


Between Want and Need

by Padapuppy



Series: Between Need and Want-AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addict Castiel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Rehabilitation, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padapuppy/pseuds/Padapuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's life is in shambles, but he's got control over it. The sex, the drugs, it's all he's got, all he knows. Everything is about control for him, getting what he needs, putting wants aside. It's not until he meets Dean that he realizes that control might be overrated. He's going to have to suffer a loss to finally get where he needs to be, and he'll get out better than okay. Things don't go easy from there. He's faced with a decision and he'll have to figure out if what he wants is more important than what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Basics

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [deancasbigbang](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/)

**INTRODUCTION**

Life, as it turned out, happens. And for Castiel, life happened way too fast and incredibly hard, not that he’d ever say that. He was brought up in a household full of obnoxious “brothers,” no mother, and a father that took a “hands off” approach. Apart from giving Castiel and his herd of siblings life, Dad was pretty much out of the picture.

Castiel was raised by four brothers in particular. Michael was the oldest, most like their father, and didn’t really care for Castiel’s existence either way. Lucifer, yes his father was that twisted, was a general screw up who decided his time was better spent as far away from Michael as possible. Castiel suspected there was something off, different, in regards to his eldest brothers’ relationship. Gabriel, the one who really took care of Castiel, was a joker (a trickster, if you will) and loved playing pranks on, well, everyone. And, of course, there was Raphael. He was a dick, and Castiel really tried not to think about him too much. Growing up in that type of family setting didn’t allow Castiel to get close with them. In fact, the only one that Castiel even associates with now is Gabriel, and that’s only because he doesn’t seem too concerned with Castiel’s lifestyle/drug problem. It’s not a problem, really, because Castiel already knows how bad it is. Every time he pops a pill or sticks a needle into his abused veins, he knows how close to death he is. Castiel’s okay with it, really. 

Castiel’s father didn’t care what his sons did one way or the other, except when Castiel up and ‘decided’ he was a “fag.” That meant that he was no longer welcome in the house, to the money, nor, in particular, in the family. That being said, every time Castiel found himself in trouble with the law, his father pointedly used his power and resources to keep Castiel out of jail and the spotlight: a gay son is bad enough, but one who can’t stay sober and out of jail, that’s just the worst. So, really, he’s okay with his near-death-life thing. Anyway, what’s there to live for when you have absolutely nothing and no one worth anything?

\----

_Okay, deep breath,_ Castiel thinks. It’s going to pass, it always does, he just has to remember to keep breathing. He can do this. He’s done it before. He didn’t do anything different than normal, but something seems off. The stuff hit too fast. It must have been cut with something new, that’s it. It has to be. Castiel can feel his head spinning, his blood pumping way too slow for the high. And if Castiel really thinks about it, it’s way too slow for normal functioning as well. It’s best to not think about it.

Half an hour later, Castiel is lying on the floor of his bathroom. The tiles may be dirty, but they’re cool to the touch, and he likes the way it feels against his hands, feet, and neck. It’s too hot in here. He knows that’s not normal, knows he’s cutting it close this time, but he can’t bring himself to care. He blinks slowly, trying not to focus on the overly bright fluorescent light overhead, but it’s hard.

“Cassy, sweetheart,” he hears someone call from another room. Someone must have let themselves in without Castiel noticing. Since Castiel only knows one person that has a key, it’s not really hard to figure out who it is. He makes an attempt to respond, but the words won’t come out, and breathing has gotten surprisingly difficult. He’s dying, he knows this, but he assumes now is as good a time as any. He just wishes Gabriel wouldn’t be here to see it happen. 

“Castiel!” He hears his brother call again accompanied by a knock on the bathroom door. Castiel tries for a “yeah” but only manages a weak groan. At least it doesn’t hurt. The door knob twists, and Castiel is fascinated by the sudden movement, his hand reaching and turning in the air as if he was turning it himself. The door opens and his brother walks in and immediately frowns. 

“Dammit, bro, you were supposed to pick me up from the airport an hour ago. Too busy getting high?” There’s no real judgement in his voice, and Castiel is grateful. “Well, come on then. Let’s get you to bed,” Gabriel says and squats down next to Castiel. “Cassy. Get up, stop dicking around.” There’s a hint of anger in Gabriel’s voice, but there’s real concern there, too.

“Can’t,” Castiel tries, his voice soft and harsh, the light too bright above his head. “Something’s off. Was cut weird.” 

“Were you cut?” Gabriel asks, confused, and searches for blood or a wound on Castiel’s body. 

“No, the stuff. It’s...” He can’t think of the word. He’s tired, so tired, and if he can close his eyes, just for a second, then maybe the bright will stop.

“No,” he hears, “Castiel, focus. What was off?” Castiel’s eyes snap open, and Gabriel is panicking now, his golden eyes not really focusing on anything, his hands fidgeting.

 _You can do this. Just answer him,_ Castiel thinks. “It’s wrong. Bad. Can’t, can’t move. I’m...” And Castiel is really trying here, just to get the words out. “I’m tired, Gabriel. J-just let me sleep.” He smiles, a mask of peace across his face, his eyes sliding shut, the brightness finally dimming.

“Oh, fuck! No, come on. You gotta stay up. I’m gonna call for help, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Just gotta get you up.” Gabriel’s voice is quieter now, or Castiel’s hearing is slipping. His eyes open, against his will, and he’s in a new position, clutched against his brother’s chest. Gabriel’s talking frantically into a phone, but Castiel can’t hear the conversation. His brother’s heartbeat is nice, strong and fast against Castiel’s ear. He drifts off, hears sirens in the far distance, but the heartbeat pulls him under.

\----

The first thing Castiel sees when he opens his eyes is a light aimed at his face. “Too bright.” Castiel mumbles and promptly tries to sit up. 

Strong hands grip his shoulders tightly and push him back down. “Easy there,” he hears someone saying. He tries to focus on the voice, but he doesn’t recognize it. “You gotta stay still.” The guy says, and Castiel feels the needle go into his arm.

Castiel closes his eyes again, feels himself slipping back into the peaceful darkness. When he opens his eyes, his body is numb and cold, and he’s focused on something in front of him. It’s a man, he realizes. His face is handsome, Castiel is sure of it, but that’s not what he’s staring at. No, he sees green eyes, flecked with gold in the most unnatural way, and they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. “You’re an angel.” Castiel drawls and drifts off once more, wondering how in the world he got into heaven.

Bright white is the first thing Castiel sees when he rouses again. It’s a room, and the faint beeping next to him coupled with a strong smell of disinfectant lets him know that he’s in the hospital. He must have overdosed. It’s not the first time, but he’s never been brought to the hospital before. Someone’s hand is gripped painfully tight to his own, and when he looks over, he sees his brother’s stricken face.

“Dammit, Castiel!” Gabriel scolds, the anger and concern evident in his tone. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s not like I planned on overdosing,” Castiel says, not really paying attention, his mind still focused on the angel he’d met or imagined. “Did I die?” Castiel wonders almost absently.

Gabriel scoffs. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“I think it’s a valid question considering...” He lifts his arm and gestures to the room.

“No, dumbass. You didn’t die. You passed out.” The worry is gone and is replaced with annoyance. At least Gabriel doesn’t seem too angry about the whole ordeal. Castiel would hate to lose the only person in his life. But none of that explains the angel he’d seen. Maybe he was just a hallucination.

“How’d I get here?”

Gabriel finally releases Castiel’s hand from the death grip, and stands up. “I called 911, and the apartment officer came first, got you here. God, Castiel.” Gabriel starts pacing the room. “If he wouldn’t have been there, you would have died.”

“I understand,” Castiel says, casting his gaze away from his brother. He doesn’t want to hear this right now.

“You understand!?” Gabriel shouts. “I don’t think you fucking do, Castiel. You would have been dead, gone. Are you really that ready to end your life? To give it all up, and, what, just leave me behind?”

Castiel had no idea that he was that close with his brother, that Gabriel cared that much. “I’m sorry,” Castiel says, and it’s barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean-I didn’t think. I don’t want to die, Gabriel. You have to know that.”

“You may not want to, Little Brother, but I don’t think you would have cared either way.” Castiel wants to argue against Gabriel’s words, but it’s not in him to lie. “I thought as much,” Gabriel replies to Castiel’s silence and leaves the room, uttering “crazy” as he shuts the door.

Castiel sits up in the small bed, his head muffled and dazed. He didn’t lie to his brother; he doesn’t really _want_ to die, but if he did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Well, technically, it would be the end of his world, but he doesn’t have much to leave behind. 

\----

The hospital keeps Castiel for a grand total of twenty-four hours. Castiel hasn’t been sober for a full day in quite some time. When he gets home, his first instinct is to alleviate that problem. Weed will be good enough since he used the last of the smack before the hospital. Castiel settles himself in his living room, realizes it’d be nice if he cleaned once in awhile. Castiel’s apartment is nice, far nicer than his salary working as a freelance editor should be able to afford, but Gabriel’s always been nice to Castiel, and making sure that Castiel wasn’t living on the streets was a priority. He didn’t have to put Castiel in a swank penthouse with access to a smaller loft upstairs that Castiel uses for storage, but Gabriel’s always been one to splurge.

Castiel’s just finishing rolling the perfect sized joint when someone knocks at the door. He puts the joint down and sighs, cocoons himself in a blanket, and makes his way to the door. “Just a minute,” he calls and wonders why Gabriel didn’t use his key.

When he opens the door, he has to look up to get a look at the guy’s face, he’s that tall. He’s attractive, sharp nose, high cheekbones, hazel eyes, full lips, and shaggy brown hair. “Hi,” he says, and Castiel gives him a nod in return. “I live downstairs, obviously not the penthouse, but I’m Sam.” He’s holding his hand out like he wants to shake, but Castiel shrugs beneath his blankets and turns around, leaving the poor guy to either walk out or stand there awkwardly in the doorway.

Castiel makes his way to his nest on the couch and lights up the joint, the smoke harsh as it travels to his lungs. “What are you doing?” He hears, apparently Sam decided to follow him. 

“What’s it look like?” Castiel shrugs and exhales. Barely any smoke comes out, and Castiel already feels better. 

“Looks like you’re hiding,” the guy, Sam, says. It’s not exactly a lie, so Castiel shrugs again. “You’ve been clean, what? Twenty-some hours? That’s huge, and you’re gonna ruin it?”

“Did Gabriel send you?” Castiel asks immediately. He does not need this, someone barging into his life and telling how to live it. He’s been alive for twenty-eight years, and he damn well knows how to get by, the previous day’s incident withholding.

“No. Is that your brother?” He doesn’t wait for Castiel to respond. “I was there the other night when you overdosed.” Sam says it so nonchalantly that Castiel shutters. Overdosed is not a pretty word, especially that word is used in reference to him.

“Did you, were you the one, the cop, that...?” Castiel tries. He doesn’t want to say “saved my life” even though that’s exactly what happened.

“Saved your life,” Sam supplies, and Castiel glares, decides his dislikes Sam immediately. “And no, that was Dean. I was just kind of around.”

Castiel nods at this information, lets it process before speaking. “So, and I’m not trying to be ungrateful; I’m really not, but why does my drug use concern you?”

Sam shrugs and takes a seat on a nearby chair. “It doesn’t, I mean, not really. It’s just, I’ve been there before, you know? My girlfriend died in a fire a few years back, hit me pretty hard. I started taking pills, whatever I could get my hands on really. And then I met Ruby, and she was fire, man. I was hooked, on her, the pills, the lifestyle, everything. So, y’know, I know what it’s like.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m clean, sober for over a year, ever since Ruby died.” Sam looks down at his feet, obviously uncomfortable, but he continues. “She overdosed one night. I’m the one that shot her up. She, uh, didn’t make it. I cleaned up after that, got back in touch with the people that matter in my life.” There’s no real sadness in his voice, and Castiel understands that. He knows what it’s like to lose something and not feel the pain that’s supposed to be associated with it. When his brothers ran out, Castiel felt indifferent while Gabriel felt abandoned.

“I don’t have some sob story to tell you. I may not have lived the easiest life, but I live beyond my means, I have a healthy sexual appetite, and no one I’ve ever cared about has left me or died. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but I use because I need to, and that’s really all there is.”

Sam stands silent for a moment, mouth agape. He takes several breaths, calming ones, Castiel supposes, and speaks. “B-but you overdosed. You nearly died. There has to be a reason why you took so much!”

Castiel snorts and shakes his head like he finds this ordeal far too amusing. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s not. There’s just me, and I survived, and I’m okay with that. And if I would have died, I would have been fine with that as well. Now, as much as I like looking at such a striking young man, would you kindly retreat back to your apartment so I can get high in peace?”

Sam looks speechless for approximately two seconds before cracking a smile. “You’re alright.” Sam laughs a little and heads towards the door. Castiel hopes the rest of the day isn’t nearly as interesting as the morning.

\----

It’s not, thankfully. Castiel’s day is rather uneventful. No one calls or barges in. He does finish what’s left of his stash while still remaining blissfully buzzed throughout the day. He even manages to get some work done. Overall, the day is good.

Castiel’s getting ready for bed, the normalcy of the routine calms him. He brushes his teeth, thinks about shaving and decides against it, pisses, and climbs into the soft bed with a mound of blankets, never bothering with clothes because he doesn’t like to feel constricted. 

 

He’s snoring, almost content, when he hears a knock at his door. “Oh, for the love of God.” Castiel groans and throws the blankets from his body. He glances at the clock. “Five o’clock in the goddamn morning,” he mutters and walks out of his room. He swiftly turns back around because greeting someone, his brother, a stranger, anyone, naked at five in the morning is probably frowned upon. He grabs a robe from the back of his bedroom door, cursing and sleepy, and heads to the sound of knocking.

“Gabriel, I swear to God, I will smite you where you stand.” He growls and opens the door. Castiel’s face changes from incredibly irritated to extremely surprised and confused in an instant because the guy on the other side of Castiel’s doorway is the same one that Castiel’s pretty sure is a hallucination. Or an angel, but he didn’t die, so the chances of that are slim.

“Hi,” the man says, and the voice is better than before-deep and strong, and Castiel groans because this cannot be happening to him. The guy, and he’s even prettier than Castiel remembered, looks confused, almost as confused as Castiel supposes he is right now, but he’s not really sure that’s possible.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and Castiel really isn’t sure how to answer that because it’s one thing to hallucinate, but it’s a whole nother deal to talk to said hallucination. Castiel’s not high, so it’s not a drug induced hallucination. He digs his fingernails into his arm and the pain tells him he’s not dreaming. Castiel is running out of options. He’s most definitely not an angel, probably, so Castiel is stuck with a hallucination that has nothing to do with God or drugs, and Gabriel was right. Castiel is crazy.

"I think I’m insane,” Castiel manages after several moments of silent contemplation. The man only nods at that.

"You gonna let me in?” He asks suddenly, and Castiel studies his face. Castiel has to hand it to himself. His subconscious sure knows how to pick a guy.

The man is still standing there when Castiel remembers he was asked a question. He shakes his head furiously. “No,” Castiel finally announces.

The guy, and Castiel really wishes his mind would come up with a name, just stands there looking kind of put off but mostly amused. “Why’s that?”

Castiel smiles and makes a split-second decision. He leans forward and kisses the guy, briefly, just enough to slide his tongue over those perfect lips, and retreats, not bothering to look at the man’s face. “You’re not real,” he answers and shuts the door. Castiel really hopes his mind lets this fantasy continue in his dreams.


	2. Progress

The next few days pass in sort of a blur for Castiel. He hasn’t seen the hallucination since that night, and he’s glad for it. He already has enough issues.

It’s a Tuesday when Castiel hears from Gabriel again. He doesn’t call first, just shows up, and Castiel is grateful.

“Brother,” he says in greeting, and Gabriel only nods. 

“Come in,” Castiel steps out of the doorway, allowing his brother to enter the apartment. 

"You look well,” Gabriel finally announces, breaking the silence. 

Castiel shrugs and looks down at himself, and decides that Gabriel must be referring to an improvement since the time they last met. 

"Be a good host, Cassy. Offer me sustenance!” Gabriel demands, but his tone is light, and Castiel thinks that maybe things would be alright.

“You’ve never known me to be a good host, Gabriel. What makes you think I would start now?” Castiel asks with a smile on his face, thankful for the familiar banter.

“Oh,” Gabriel laughs, putting an arm around Castiel and ruffling his hair, “I don’t know. You’d think almost dying would change your wicked ways.” Castiel flinches, just for a second, but Gabriel notices. He releases his hold on his brother. “I apologize. That was out of line.”

“I meant what I said, Gabriel. I don’t want to die, you just have to trust me that I know what I’m doing,” Castiel says seriously.

Gabriel scoffs, shakes his head. “Then explain what happened, brother.”

“I just got some bad stuff, that’s all. I wasn’t careful; I acted out of desperation, and I am sorry that you worried. You know how cautious I usually am.”

“I know, and I do trust you, but you must be careful, Cassy. If you ever find yourself that desperate again, you call me, and I’ll come.” Gabriel says somberly.

Castiel wants to laugh. “And you’ll what exactly?” He inquires while peering at the refrigerator.

“I have supplies. Various things, nothing that can expire, of course, but I can give you something until you’re in your right mind again.” Gabriel responds.

Gabriel must have pills then. Castiel vaguely wonders if he stocked up just for him. “Oh, I was unaware. You have my word, Gabriel, that if I find that I am in dire need, you will be the first person I contact.”

“One day, Castiel, you will get over this...this desire of yours. We’ll get you help, and things will be better.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He’s had this conversation before. Gabriel doesn’t understand that it isn’t a desire. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want anything. Castiel isn’t driven by want. It’s need that guides and dictates his life. He doesn’t stop because he really can’t. There’s nothing important enough to replace this need-there never will be-and Castiel accepts that fact.

Castiel does what he always does during these conversations. He nods and smiles politely. There’s nothing more to say on the matter, which is just fine by Castiel. He retreats to his living room, beer in hand, and flicks on the television, handing the remote control to his brother.

Forty minutes later, Castiel is comfortably high, and Gabriel is just this side of drunk. Gabriel is an amusing drunk. His slurred speech and incessant laughter is almost always entertaining. Gabriel is smiling and laughing, and Castiel is really enjoying the familiarity of it all. Gabriel has always been a constant in Castiel’s life. He may not entirely approve of Castiel’s lifestyle, but he does nothing to change it, and that’s how it needs to be.

A knock on the door, moments later, disrupts the comfortable routine. “Oh, aren’t we popular,” Gabriel slurs. “I’ll get it.” Gabriel makes a show of standing up and swaying on his feet. He walks towards the door and stops right in his tracks. “Wait!” He says too loudly and points a finger at Castiel. “This isn’t...You didn’t...” Gabriel can’t find the words, and someone keeps knocking.

“I didn’t what, Gabriel?” Castiel asks, unmoving from his spot on the couch.

“Am I about to open the door on your harom? Is there a scheduled orgy that I need to leave for? I’m too drunk to leave, Cassy. Tell them to go away.” 

Gabriel is still in sight, and Castiel laughs at the situation. “No,” he chuckles. “There is nothing planned for this evening, and you don’t have to leave.”

Gabriel looks elated at the news, and walks back towards Castiel. “Great!” He exclaims and hovers of one of the chairs.

“Answer the door, Gabriel.” Castiel laughs, and Gabriel actually blushes. 

“Right, sorry. Forgot,” he says and heads for the door. Castiel sincerely hopes he makes it there because Castiel is entirely too comfortable to be bothered with moving.

“There’s a moose at the door,” Castiel hears his brother call, and he hears laughter. “Or maybe a giraffe. I’m not sure.”

"Well, which is it?” Castiel yells and wonders what Gabriel is talking about. He seriously considers getting up and checking it out, but this couch is just too comfortable to leave.

“Neither,” he hears a voice that doesn’t belong to his brother.

“Oh, I remember you. You were there when Cassy almost bit the big one. Geez, you’re tall,” Gabriel says, and it registers with Castiel. He stands from his cozy spot on the couch, heads in the direction of the door, and groans when he sees Sam. 

“Hey.” Sam greets him with a small sort of wave. “I, uh, well I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Sam’s fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“I’m doing well. Thank you for your concern, Sam. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my brother and I were relaxing.” Castiel turns from the door and sincerely hopes that Sam gets the message.

“Why don’t you come relax with us,” Gabriel tells Sam, and Castiel shakes his head and walks away. This is not how he pictured his night going.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t wanna impose. It’s just that my brother, he’s out right now, and we just moved here, and I don’t know anyone.”

Castiel sighs and turns around, his night getting longer by the second. He takes in Sam’s nervous face, and smiles politely. “Sam, how old are you?”

Sam looks around for a moment, then pointedly stares at the ground. “Nineteen.”

“And everything you told me before, when did that start?”

Sam doesn’t speak for a moment, just swallows thickly. “Jess, she died when I was sixteen. I met Ruby not long after.”

“Christ. Okay, Sam. Come on in,” Castiel says finally and hopes he doesn’t regret this.

Sam, as it turns out, is a student at a local community college. He has dreams of becoming a lawyer, and Castiel could see that happening. Sam is smart, his knowledge doesn’t exceed Castiel’s own, but he can certainly hold his own in intelligent conversation. 

Sam also has an older brother; Sam doesn’t say much about him, doesn’t even say his name. All Sam said about the man was that Sam recently moved in with him, and they are in process of repairing their relationship.

After that night, Sam becomes a regular in Castiel’s life, part of his routine. A few times a week, when Sam’s brother is at work, Sam will come over. At times, Gabriel would come over, but more often than not, it’s just Sam and Castiel. Castiel finds that his initial feelings towards the young man have changed, and he’s glad for it.

**\----**

It’s November now, four months after the incident, not that it’s important, but things are getting colder. Sam still says Castiel is hiding, but there’s no heat behind it, so Castiel lets it go. He doesn’t want to go out. There’s no need. Everything comes to him. For sex, he makes some calls, makes that happen. Drugs come through this discreet delivery surface he stumbled upon years ago. And, lastly, his friends come to him as well. He only has two, friends, that is, and one of them is his brother, but that doesn’t matter.

The night air is chilly as Castiel sits on a plastic chair on his balcony, fingers tangled loosely in Sam’s hair as Sam sits in front of him on the cement floor. It’s just friendly affection, absent touching that’s become second nature to the pair after the past few months. Castiel thinks he’s supposed to be doing something other than playing with Sam’s hair, like brushing it or something, but he can’t remember, and this is comfortable. 

Sam and Castiel are friends, quite close actually, but there’s still a lot he doesn’t know about the younger man. It doesn’t matter, Sam always says, because Castiel knows the important things, and that’s what counts. He still only comes over when his brother is out of the apartment. Castiel understands not wanting to be alone.

The silence isn’t awkward as they watch leaves fall from the surrounding trees. The leaves, red and orange, should have fallen earlier on in the season, but autumn has run slow this year. Sam calls them late bloomers, the leaves, and Castiel points out that the leaves are, in fact, dying and not blooming. 

“Shut up!” Sam laughs, and Castiel smiles. It’s nice having a friend. “I’m going to get you to stop one of these days, you realize that, right?”

Castiel groans and tugs his fingers out of Sam’s hair. “Must we have this conversation again?” Castiel asks.

Sam gets to his feet, turning and looking exasperated. “Castiel, I care about you, and I don’t wanna see you die.”

“I’m not going to die, Sam. I’m careful, and before you start, that was one time, and it was an accident. I’m functioning just fine.” Castiel doesn’t feel the need to mention the other two times he nearly died in the past; that’d just fuel another long-winded argument.

“Functioning. Man, do you even hear yourself? You shouldn’t be functioning, you’re twenty-six.”

“Twenty-eight,” Castiel interrupts, and Sam stares at him, anger building on his face.

“You’re twenty-eight.” Sam corrects through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t be _functioning;_ you should be _living._ ”

Sam looks at Castiel with an expression of frustration, and Castiel sighs. He’s about to open his mouth, but Sam’s phone ringing on the nearby table disrupts him.

Sam walks over to the phone and rolls his eyes at whatever name is flashing on the screen. He puts one finger up, a gesture to show he’ll just be a minute, answers the phone, and walks inside.

“Yeah, man. I’m fine,” Castiel hears Sam say. There’s a pause, he assumes someone else is talking, then Sam speaks again. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you, I’m just upstairs.” Another pause, and when Sam talks again, his voice is raised and he sounds exasperated. “Yes, Castiel is my friend...I don’t care.” 

Sam’s pacing inside, a hand running absently through his hair. Castiel doesn’t mean to spy, but whoever Sam’s talking to seems to have a problem with him, so he figures he can listen. “Fine. You know where I’m at. Bye.” Sam’s snap on the phone cut off Castiel’s thoughts, but it’s fine because Sam’s coming back outside.

“That was my brother,” he explains. Castiel nods, unsure of what to say. “He’s coming up here. He’s kind of pissed at me for being here, I guess.”

“Why?” Castiel asks. There are plenty of reasons about Castiel’s life that are unpleasing, but he doubts Sam shares any of them with his brother. “He doesn’t know me,” Castiel finishes.

Sam hangs his head sheepishly, like he’s about to say something when there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Castiel tells Sam, and Sam nods silently.

Castiel makes it to the door, twists the knob, and freezes. It’s _him_ , the angel, hallucination, whatever. It’s him and he’s back, and Castiel finally thought he was done with being that crazy. “Oh, god. I really am truly insane,” Castiel says and shuts the door.

Sam catches up quickly. “What are you doing?” Sam asks, visibly confused.

“Man, I don’t know what I did, but this is the second time you’ve done this to me, and it’s starting to piss me off,” Castiel hears from the other side of the door.

“Second time?” Sam wonders, cocking his head to the side.

Castiel shrugs before furrowing his brows. “Wait, you heard him?”

Sam looks at Castiel like he’s the crazy person Castiel believes himself to be. “Of course I heard him; that’s my brother. I hear his loud ass everyday.”

He must have said it a little too loudly because Sam’s brother says through the door, “I heard that, Sammy. Now open the door.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do. He’s too high for this. Or he’s not high enough. He’s not sure. All he knows is that he kissed a random guy who he happened to think was a hallucination, who happens to be Sam’s older brother, and who happens to be right outside of the door. “I need a drink,” Castiel says, leaving Sam in the entrance, and for the freezer where he immediately pours himself a shot.

Castiel emerges from the kitchen, two shots down and visibly calmer to the sound of hushed but harsh whispering. He coughs, interrupting the sight before him, and they both look at him, startled.

“Sam.” Castiel nods in Sam’s direction as he walks closer. The man in front of Sam is every bit as beautiful as Castiel remembers. From hair to chin, he is perfect. From freckles that dust his nose, to brilliant jade eyes, to voluptuous lips that are nearly too pretty for his face. The rest of his body is covered in a navy police uniform, and Castiel wants to tell him that Halloween is over, except the nametag reads “Winchester,” and he _knows_ it’s not a costume. And that’s just not fair.

“Castiel,” Sam says, and Castiel realizes he was staring and blushes sheepishly. “This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Castiel.”

Dean. Castiel knows he remembers that name, but he can’t place it. “Dean,” Castiel shakes Dean’s outstretched hand. Dean’s hand is larger than his own, not as big as Sam’s, but it’s rougher, calloused like he uses them. “I find that I must apologize for my behavior the first time we met. I didn’t know you were real.”

Sam looks at Castiel, obviously confused, but Castiel makes no move to explain further.

“It’s okay,” Dean replies. “I mean, you were pretty out of it. You didn’t really say anything. Couldn’t just leave you there to die.” His tone is serious, before he cracks a small smile. “And the second time, man. I mean, a kiss isn’t normally the reward for saving someone’s life, but I’ll take it.” Dean’s laughing now, at the awkward situation or Sam’s shocked expression, Castiel doesn’t know.

“Kiss,” Sam exclaims. “You kissed Dean?” 

Castiel chuckles at those words, nodding in the affirmative. “Wait,” he says once he can breathe again, Dean’s words finally catching up with him. “You’re Dean.” And he says it with such awe.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scrubs a hand down the back of his neck, eyebrow cocked in confusion. 

“You saved my life. It was you, when I-and then I...Oh my god!” Castiel groans, and drops to his knees on the ground, his hands covering his face.

“Is he okay?” Dean asks.

“He’s mortified,” Sam replies easily. “He does this sometimes. You see, Castiel has a flair for the dramatics.”

“Do not.” Castiel whimpers. “Just go, leave me and my embarrassment alone. Leave me in this wonderful apartment with my wonderful vodka on my wonderful couch, and let me die.”

That earns a laugh from Dean. “Man, what happened to you?”

Castiel looks up from his place on the floor and shrugs, “Life.”

Everyone is silent for a moment; no one wants to comment on Castiel’s last statement. Dean had obviously meant it as joke, but Castiel took the question how he does most things, very seriously. But it wasn’t a big deal He didn’t see why they were taking it as if it was. His mortification, on the other hand, well, that is another thing entirely.

“Well,” Castiel broke the silence. “I’m just gonna get up off my floor, here, and kill myself.” He stands rather quickly and nods at Sam. “As always, a pleasure, Sam. Dean.” He nods to the both of them, signaling his goodbye and starts towards his bedroom.

Castiel can hear Sam laughing as he pauses, out of sight, in the hallway. It’s his house, he can spy if he wants to. “Dean, come on. You don’t actually believe him.” Sam’s practically wheezing now.

“It’s not funny, Sam. He tried. He almost killed himself before. Or did you forget?” Dean’s tone is angry, and if Castiel wasn’t so embarrassed, he’d correct Dean himself. Luckily for Castiel, Sam is an astounding friend.

“Look, Dean. I don’t know what you thought happened that night, but he wasn’t trying to...you know. It was an accident, Dean. Accidents happen.”

There’s silence for a moment before Castiel hears Dean say, “Yeah, alright. You’d know, right?” Dean chuckles, almost nervously. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that. Look, it’s just. I don’t want him to be a bad influence, you know? I mean, you’ve barely been clean a year, and he probably uses every day.” There’s something in his tone that Castiel doesn’t quite get. It’s not disgust, but it might be a near thing.

At the last comment, Castiel has had it. He stomps back into the entrance, past Sam and Dean, and yanks open the door. “Dean, lovely to meet you, really, but please get the hell out of my house.”

Dean stands dumbfounded before looking down at his feet, shifting his weight between each one while a hand grazes over the back of his neck. When he looks up, he reaches Castiel’s gaze almost sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, eyes still locked on the Castiel’s. “This is your home, and I had no right.”

 _Home_ , Castiel thinks, _right_. Nowhere has ever been home, but there’s no reason to share that information, so Castiel cuts him off. “That’s right, this place is mine. And you have no right to barge in here and accuse me of persuading your brother into anything. I have never, and would never, give Sam anything, even if he asked. Which he hasn’t, by the way. And the last time I checked, Sam is nineteen and perfectly capable of making his own damn decisions. And by the way, my using is none of your business. I am perfectly able to manage my life without interference or accusation. And before you say anything, I know what happened. And I appreciate what you did, but you did your job. I don’t owe you anything, and I would like very much if you left and preferably never came back.” Castiel huffs out in a furious breath, eyes never leaving Dean’s, fingers clenched painfully on the door.

“I-I’m sorry, Castiel. Really, I just...” Dean stops for a moment, breaking the staring contest the two are very obviously having, and turns to his brother. “Sam, head on down, I’ll be home in a minute.”

Sam looks stricken before turning to Castiel who is currently trying to regain control of his breathing. Castiel nods, and Sam goes, leaving the two alone.

Silence hangs in the air for what feels like hours before Dean speaks. “I don’t know you; you’re right. I just, I worry about my brother. He’s all I got, and how he was before...It was destructive. He was always lying and manipulating everyone, and then he just disappeared. Castiel, I thought I lost him. I just got him back, and I can’t lose him again.”

Castiel considers this for a moment before nodding, fingers loosening their grip on the door’s edge. “Alright, Dean. He’s not the same person. You have to realize that. But know that I would never put Sam in a position like that. He has never once offered to join me when I uh...use, as you put it. And if he ever did, I would turn him down. He may be old enough to make his own decisions, but I could never be the one to give that final nudge.”

Dean nods, taking in Castiel’s information. “Okay. You seem to have a better handle on all of this than Sam did.” Dean chuckles nervously.

“All of this?” Castiel asks, one hand making a general gesture in the air.

“You know, the drugs and stuff. I don’t know. You don’t act like he did, is all I’m saying.” Dean’s blushing now, just a bit, and Castiel doesn’t have an idea as to why, but he finds it really, very endearing.

Castiel chooses to ignore Dean’s red cheeks and nose,which he’s trying so incredibly hard to not find adorable, and replies, “We’re not the same person. I’m not young and naive. I know what I’m doing isn’t widely accepted. But, with very few exceptions, I’m quite careful about it. I don’t want to die, Dean, and that was never my intention that night. And you’d know this if you asked.”

Dean seems to accept this and moves closer to the door before he stops in his tracks and lets out a small laugh. “I was going to, man. But then you kissed me and closed the door in my face.”

It’s Castiel who blushes this time, all of the embarrassment flooding to memory. Dean walks closer, exiting the apartment, and stands right outside the door.

“About that,” Castiel says as Dean stands close. Castiel inches forward until his lips are mere inches for Dean’s. Castiel can see Dean’s eyes gaze at his mouth, and Castiel licks his lips smugly. 

Dean swallows thickly. “Yeah?” He ghosts out and Castiel can feel Dean’s breath on his lips.

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s chest and smiles. “It will never happen again.” He grins and pushes Dean out of the way of the door.

Dean’s laughing as he stumbles backwards. “Okay, good. Wouldn’t wanna make anyone jealous.” Dean says eyes gazing over Castiel’s body. 

Castiel doesn’t tell him that there is no one to make jealous. “Right. Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel replies and shuts the door.

“Night, Cas,” Dean calls from the other side, amusement still in his voice. Castiel hears footsteps exiting in the direction of the elevator and falls back against the door.

He composes himself, locks the door, and heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, forgoes shaving again, pisses, and goes to his mound of blankets, thinking of the way Dean sprung Cas on him and green eyes as he drifts off to sleep.

**\----**

Sam stops by the next morning, much to Castiel’s surprise. The kid doesn’t even knock. Castiel’s sleeping when Sam flops down on the bed next to him. “So,” Sam starts, breaking Castiel from his slumber. 

“Christ, Sam!” Castiel jerks from his sleep and throws a pillow over his face. All Sam does is laugh and snuggle down deeper into the soft bed. 

So,” Sam says again. “You kissed Dean.”

Castiel groans. He was hoping last night was a dream. “Yep,” Castiel says, not even bothering to lift his head from under the pillow.

“Did you kiss him again after I left?” Sam asks, amusement evident in his tone.

Castiel throws the pillow at Sam. “Of course not. The first time, I thought he was a hallucination, and it will never happen again.” 

“Good. I mean, that could be weird, you know? And he’s not gay. He’d tell me if he was, right? Not that it’s a problem, but...” Sam rambles on, and Castiel decides that whatever he’s saying isn’t important enough to listen to at such an ungodly hour.

Castiel turns his head and risks a glance at Sam, still visibly sleep, still clad in sleep pants and a t-shirt, and takes mercy on him. “You’re adorable in the morning,” Castiel remarks, effectively cutting off Sam’s chain of thought.

Sam falters at the words, just for a second, before he turns over and wraps an arm around Castiel. “Why, Castiel,” he says with mock femininity. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Castiel chuckles silently to himself before speaking. “Of course, Sam,” he breathes, his voice gruff and suave. “Why do you think I’m naked under these covers?”

Sam laughs for a second before his face looks stricken. “What? Oh, gross, man. Warn a guy,” he mumbles, rolling off the bed and walking backwards. “You, uh, go and get dressed, I’ll be out here. Still wearing clothes. Yeah, I. See you in a minute.” Sam walks backwards out of the door, shuts it, and Castiel laughs. Castiel could swear that he saw Sam blush; it was entirely too easy.

Castiel dresses swiftly, long-sleeved as always, and glances at his reflection in the mirror. His scruff has turned into a fairly impressive beard. One of these days, he’s going to have to shave. He doesn’t even remember the last time his face was smooth.

“Sam,” Castiel calls, exiting the room and heading out to the balcony. Sam meets him out there, moments later, two mugs of coffee in his hands. Castiel takes the cup closest to him and takes a long, luxurious sip. He promptly spits in back out, the hot liquid spattering on his pants and and ground. “What the hell?!” Castiel asks, looking at the coffee with disdain.

Sam shrugs, a sheepish smile on his shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been naked.” Sam laughs loudly, and Castiel sort of wants to kill him.

“Bullshit!” Castiel exclaims. “You’re the one that jumped into my bed where I was still sleeping, and then you what? Poison my coffee?!” Castiel is vehement, anger rising and boiling.

Sam slouches over, his face red and he’s laughing so hard. “Dude, poison? That’s my coffee. No sugar or cream. That’s it. It’s not that sugary shit you practically inhale.”

Castiel looks back down at the offending beverage. “It’s not poisoned? It’s just regular coffee?” Castiel asks, disbelieving. 

Sam nods. “Yep, now give me it to me. Yours is right here.” Sam offers him the other cup.

Castiel takes the cup and sips it tentatively. He groans when he discovers that it’s correct. Perfect.

**\----**

Though it is rumored that Castiel’s family has more money than God, Castiel, being apparently cut off, has to work on occasion. He doesn’t mind his job, and he gets to work from home. The job is just mediocre, boring even. With every word he edits, every sentence he corrects, Castiel thinks of how he used to write when he was still in school, before the drugs, the mindless sex. He thinks of words pouring from his hand onto fresh paper, and he feels relief. He dismisses those thoughts when a knock disrupts his work.

Groaning at being interrupted, Castiel heaves himself from the comfortable chair, sets his laptop down, and answers the door. He doesn’t expect that perfect face and those eyes to greet him on the other side, but, regardless, they are there nonetheless.

“Dean,” Castiel says plainly, hand still placed on the door, not ready to invite Dean inside.

“Hey.” He speaks quietly, “I just wanted to, you know, apologize again, for what I said. You were right, man. I really don’t know you.”

Castiel sighs. The deja vu feeling of just having the very same conversation a few weeks ago remains. “It’s okay. Really.” Castiel assures him.

Dean smiles, fingers flexing at his sides. “What I mean is that I don’t know you.”

“Dean, you are being repetitive.” Castiel rolls his eyes, unclear of what Dean means by saying the same thing over and over again.

“Well, then let me finish, dammit.” Dean all but growls, his face flashes angry for a second before returning to neutral.

Castiel nods, prompting Dean to continue uninterrupted.

“I don’t know you, but I’d like to.” Dean spits the words out in a rush. His face is flushed, like he’s embarrassed and Castiel has to fight not to laugh.

Apparently, Castiel loses that fight if the chuckles escaping his mouth have any say on it. Dean looks, upset, disappointed perhaps. “Sorry,” Castiel amends. “You want to know me? Why?”

Dean seems to think it over for a few moments before replying. “You look after Sammy when I can’t, seem to really care about his well-being, and family means a lot to me. Besides you seem like an alright guy.”

“Hmm, well, Dean your assumptions are half right. I do care for your brother.” The look Dean gives him makes Castiel retract. “I care about him as a friend, idiot,” he says, shaking his head. “But I am most certainly not an alright guy.”

“Will you let me be the judge of that?” Dean asks, and Castiel cannot figure out why Dean is so adamant about this.

“You want to know me?” Castiel asks again.

This time, it is Dean who laughs. “You’re being repetitive, Cas.”

The nickname doesn’t bother Castiel like it should, like it does when Gabriel calls him “Cassy.” Dean’s smiling though, and Castiel cannot help but smile back in return.

“So, whaddu ya say?” Dean wonders, a hopeful smile firm on his lips. “You wanna get to know me?”

This question shouldn’t be hard. It’s actually really simple, but he can’t look at it like that. Wanting isn’t something Castiel does, it can’t be. Still, lying wouldn’t be a great way to go into a friendship, if this is even what it is, so Castiel shrugs. “I might.”

Dean laughs, full and hearty, still the best sound Castiel’s even had the pleasure of hearing. “Well, it’s not a no. So, how about we go get some pie because I’m starving, and there’s this great little place not far from here. Best damn pie in the state, swear to God.”

Castiel looks down at his own disheveled appearance and runs a hand through his scratchy beard. “I don’t leave the house much,” Castiel explains.

Dean looks confused for a split second. “Oh, yeah. Sam mentioned that. Well, I’ll get that pie, and be back in a while. I’ll even get extra cuz Sammy will probably already be here when I get back.”

Castiel nods. _Definitely not a date then_. And that’s an odd thought. Castiel doesn’t date, doesn’t know Dean well enough to date him, and Dean’s not even interested in him like that because Dean is not gay. Castiel feels fucked for some reason, and he’s sure it’s not the good way.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Dean laughs and heads to leave.

Castiel shuts the door and braces himself on it for a moment. He feels like getting dressed, maybe even shaving, but there’s a joint already rolled in his ashtray, and that seems so much better.

Forty-five minutes or so later, with Sam in tow, Dean arrives. He doesn’t knock, just walks right through the house. “I’m outside,” Castiel informs them, not even bothering to double check that it is, in fact, Sam and Dean. There’s no need.

“I got pie,” Dean says in way of greeting, and Sam shrugs almost apprehensively. Dean’s eyes rake over their surroundings, the ashtray, rolling papers, half empty bag of corn chips. “What are you, stoned?”

Dean looks to Sam whose face is blank and clueless and then back to Castiel. Sam shrugs and walks back in the apartment, understanding the awkwardness of the situation.

Dean’s face is serious and somewhat stern, and Castiel fears for a moment that Dean will take Sam and never come back. That thought upsets him, and it should. Sam has become a dear friend, and Castiel needs him in his life, but, for some reason, that doesn’t scare him half as much as Dean never coming back. He feels bad about that; he doesn’t even know Dean. He might want to though, and there’s the truth and beauty of it all.

Castiel remembers that Dean asked him a question. He could lie, hope that Dean isn’t as smart as Sam. He most likely is, though. With Sam being a former addict, Dean would see right through the lie.

He finally brings his gaze to Dean’s whose face is commanding and composed. “Generally, yeah,” Castiel tells him somberly.

Dean’s laugh, sudden and abrupt, startles Castiel. Dean started with a few throaty chortles, but he’s full on laughing, doubled over. If Castiel listens closely, he can hear Dean wheeze. The laughing fit continues for what seems like several minutes. Dean sucks in a calming breath; it doesn’t appear to work.

“What’s so funny?” Castiel wonders earnestly. Castiel is sure he didn’t say anything to warrant such a response. Finally, he smiles uneasily up at Dean who seems to be finally calming down.

“Oh, nothing,” Dean says, still chuckling, gently patting Castiel’s shoulder. “Whew. It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. Oh, it's been more than a long time. Years.” His smile is warm and inviting, but not nearly as warm as the hand that still remains gripped on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel stares at it, noticing that even his hand sports a few random freckles.

Castiel doesn’t know what to think of that, what Dean said. In a way, it’s quite sad that Dean’s life had been so devoid of laughter. He thinks he understands it, though, at least partially. He thinks it comes back to Sam. It’s a shame to think that a child so young had to deal with everything that happened, and Castiel finds it amazing that Sam made it out of everything so well-adjusted. There are times though, Castiel can tell, when Sam spaces out, loses himself, and regains awareness several moments later with shuddering breaths. They never talk about it, but Castiel can see it, knows what it’s like more than most. He’s not sure what Dean’s role was during that time; Sam’s never mentioned it, but their relationship obviously suffered. So for that, Castiel thinks he gets why Dean took such enjoyment in laughter, sad as it is.

Another part of Castiel is not only glad that Dean was happy, if just for a moment, but that Dean was happy with what something that Castiel had said. He shouldn’t revel in it, but he almost lets himself. 

Castiel is acutely aware of Dean staring at him and doesn’t want to look up, but he does. He meets Dean’s questioning gaze, allows himself the luxury of getting lost in those almost-mossy eyes. He could exist like this forever, he realizes, looking at Dean. He should look away, they both should, but Castiel can’t seem make his eyes move. It’s unprecedented in Castiel’s life, really, this near desire to know someone. Here, looking at Dean, not breaking contact, Dean’s hand still on Castiel’s frame, Castiel realizes that it isn’t near; he wants to know Dean, wants Dean to know him. Finally, Castiel looks away because that scares the hell out of him.

It’s awkward now. No one is saying anything, and Castiel finds it nearly hard to breathe. He’s close to panic, he realizes. Wanting is something Castiel doesn’t do. Wanting leads to disappointment when that something is no longer around, and Castiel sees no reason, especially after Dean learns more about him, to stick around.

Thankfully, the silence is broken by Sam’s return. He coughs once, announces his presence like he sometimes does, and Castiel feels nothing but relief. Dean drops his hand as Sam shuffles out on the balcony, coffee from the little shop in the lobby in hand, and grins at Castiel.

“No poison?” Castiel wonders, amusement heavy in his tone.

“No poison,” Sam promises and hands him the cup. He takes a cautious sip and is relieved to find it favorable. 

Dean spares a questioning look at his brother and asks, “Poison?” before accepting his own cup. 

Castiel nods heavily. “Sam tried to kill me!” He exclaims, and Dean looks stricken for a second before he quirks an eyebrow at the pair of them. Sam has taken a seat next to Castiel while Dean remains standing, bag, which can only have pie inside, still in hand. 

“Did not.” Sam smiles and bumps Castiel’s shoulder with his own, nearly spilling his coffee on his lap.

“See what I mean.” Castiel says to Dean. 

Dean seems to be really trying to understand what’s going on, but judging by the look on his face, he is failing miserably. 

Sam must take pity on his older brother and explains. “I gave Castiel my coffee instead of his. Clearly, not all of us are cut off for my big, manly taste in caffeinated beverages,” Sam jokes.

Dean cracks a smile. “You still drinking that tar, Sammy?”

“Exactly.” Castiel chimes in. “Without sugar and cream, it is a foul concoction that should be subjected to no man without the intent to kill.”

Dean laughs again, low and nearly private. “I gotta admit, I’m likin’ what I’m learning so far, Cas.” Though Sam is right next to Castiel, he feels that what Dean said was meant for his ears alone. He nods, politely, and tries not to blush.

“ _Aw, Cas_ ,” Sam chortles in both amusement and wonder. “He gettin’ you all hot and bothered?”

Clearly, Castiel’s attempt was a failure. Castiel ignores Sam’s use of the nickname, and opts for searching Dean’s face. Dean’s glaring at his brother, heatedly, angry almost, and Castiel thinks he recognizes that look. Jealousy. 

Dean glance at Castiel for a split second before clearing his throat. “So, how ‘bout that pie? Love me some pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, I think they're awesome.


	3. A Step in the Wrong Direction

Castiel’s mind is constantly racing, thoughts flooding his brain--thoughts of Dean. Abnormal as this behavior is for Castiel, he welcomes it, relishes it because he’s never felt a stronger connection with someone in his entire life. It’s like fate decided that Dean would be Castiel’s friend, and he is genuinely thankful.

Friends really is the best word to describe Castiel and Dean’s relationship. They talk, eat, and generally hang out. Castiel gets high, whether Dean’s around or not, and Dean never tells him not to.

“The way I see it,” Dean says one day in December. “It’s your body. And so long as you’re not shovin’ it in Sam’s face, it doesn’t matter.” Dean laughs and takes a sip from a silver flask that Castiel has been seeing more and more of as of late. “‘Sides, it’s not like I’m the picture of innocence myself.”

“Nonsense!” Castiel exclaims. _Dean is good whether he sees it or not_.

“I mean with the drinking, asshat,” Dean slurs. Castiel must have said that bit about Dean being good aloud. Oh, well, there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“Why did you start?” Castiel asks and immediately regrets it when he sees the look on Dean’s face.

“Why’d you start?” Dean throws back at him. “Oh, that’s right. Sammy told me. You just decided one day.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Castiel mumbles, fingers absently playing with his beard. It’s pretty impressive, actually. It’s not entirely hygienic, but neither is Castiel so it suits him.

“What’s that?” Dean asks, leans closer from where he’s sitting across from Castiel. 

“I may have lied to Sam,” Castiel admits.

“What?” And for some reason Dean seems outraged. “Why would you lie to him? What-how could you? He thought he was...Nevermind.” Dean stands then, and Castiel has to refrain from grabbing his arm. 

“I didn’t know,” Castiel says as Dean heads for the door. “I didn’t know him.”

Dean either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care because before Castiel can protest, the front door is opening and closing and Dean is walking out of the apartment and probably out of Castiel’s life.

Dean must have told Sam, Castiel decides after two days with no word from either of them. Castiel didn’t mean to lie, he really didn’t. But talking about his past is not something Castiel likes to do. He doesn’t even like talking about his present so much; hence the long-sleeve shirts because even though everyone he’s around know’s he uses, track marks are just not something they need to see. 

Castiel feels guilty, he must, because his current behavior is baffling even to him. Two days is a long time for an addict not to use. Withdrawal is not something Castiel likes for obvious reasons, but it’s reached the point where he can’t take it. Between the sweating and vomiting, the headaches and shaking, Castiel is a wreck. He finally caved, guilt be damned and called up his regular dealer.

Not twenty minutes later the guy shows up with a small brown paper sack that Castiel knows has an even smaller clear plastic bag inside with heroin. This is a terrible idea. Castiel knows better than this. He’s an addict, and dosing down is one thing, but from full-on using to cold turkey even for a couple of days is dangerous, like fatally dangerous. It also explains why Castiel’s hands can’t stop shaking enough to grip the needle. He wants to call Gabriel but everything hurts, and he feels like if he tries to move, he’s going to die. Stranger things have happened.

A day later of no success and little movement, and it hits Castiel that he really, really doesn’t want to die. As amazing as that realization is, it doesn’t change the fact that Castiel is probably going to anyway.

He can’t let that happen. Struggling, he crawls into the bathroom, needle in hand and relieves himself into the tub because it requires much less aim and determination. Castiel sinks back down to the floor, the same floor where he nearly died those few months ago. He grips the needle, slides up his sleeve, shaky-handed, and pierces skin. He misses the vein entirely.

After several more attempts and arms covered in blood, Castiel knows it’s over. God is finally punishing him, severely. He’s going to die here, on his bathroom floor, with Dean and Sam thinking he’s a piece of shit because really that’s what he is, and he’s going to go to hell. Castiel would pray to change his ways if he survived this because he wants to survive this, but he knows that given the chance, he’d be using again as soon as possible. It’s useless.

Resigned, Castiel sits against the counter in his bathroom, waiting for starvation or dehydration or one of the several other drug related-ailments to kill him. It’ll probably be slow; Castiel knows he should suffer.

He doesn’t expect the knock at the door. It’s locked, and he’s not moving, so he tries not to think about it. The knocker is persistent, now banging on the door and yelling. If Castiel listens hard enough, he can hear what they’re saying.

“Cas? Cas, come on. You gotta open up.” It’s Dean, Castiel realizes, and hopefully he goes away and never comes back because Castiel doesn’t want to think about Dean discovering his corpse in a few days. Of course, the knocking only gets louder, and Castiel forces himself to respond. 

"I’m fine, Dean. Go away!” Castiel yells, and he hopes the pain didn’t register in his voice.

“Bullshit, Cas. Open up. Sam’s been callin’ for two days.”

That’s a nice thought. Sam doesn’t hate him. Of course, Castiel couldn’t come to the phone. He’s not even sure where it’s at.

"I’m good, just tired!” Castiel screams back, agony in his voice, he knows it this time. It wasn’t a total lie though. Sleep would be wonderful, but the only sleep Castiel will be getting is the permanent kind. Everything in due time and all that.

The loud crack surprises Castiel and he’s surprised at how easily it was for Dean to break in here. Quickly, Castiel grabs a towel from the floor and covers his arm, hoping the blood doesn’t soak through. The needle stays where Castiel ultimately dropped it. He’s going to die, and Dean gets to watch. Wonderful.

“Cas, what’s that smell?” Dean hollers, and Castiel would shrug if he could, not that it would matter, Dean’s not in the same room, not yet. Besides, Castiel knows what the smell is. It’s him, so really, he can’t do anything about it now. He’s not cleaned, hasn’t bathed either, it’s natural that there’s a lingering odor. Give it a few days, then it will really reek. 

“Cas,” Dean calls; he’s closer now, footsteps in the hallway.

“In here,” Castiel says quietly, and Dean walks in, hand holding his nose before he looks at Castiel.

“Shit, Cas. Is that you?” Dean asks, still holding his nose from the offending odor that is Castiel. 

Castiel does shrug this time, weak but it was enough for the towel to slide down, revealing blood and tiny cuts and scrapes where the needle just wouldn’t go in quite right.

“Cas?” Dean questions, and his voice is weak and tiny, filled with concern Castiel never knew Dean had.

"Withdrawal,” Castiel says in way of explanation, and everything would just be so much easier if Dean did whatever it is he came here to do. 

 

Dean nods shakily and sinks to his knees. He removes the towel and winces, notices the amount of blood, the tremors that travel through Castiel’s body. “Shit, uh, Cas. You gotta help me out here. What do I do?”

Castiel shakes his head. He can’t ask Dean to shoot him up. God forbid it goes wrong, and Castiel still doesn’t make it. Castiel refuses to put that on Dean.

“You missed, huh?” Dean asks nervously, and all Castiel can do is nod. “How long’s it been?”

“Three days.” Castiel rasps out.

“Shit, Cas. What the hell? You know better than that. You could die.” Dean’s furious before he gets a look of realization on his face. “Was that your plan? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Castiel really wants to roll his eyes because if he wanted to die, he’d be dead. It really is that simple. “No.” He picks up the needle again. He can see the vein on the front on his hand, maybe if he tries a couple of times, he can get it.

The needle digs in, misses the vein, and Dean looks at Castiel with panic. “What the hell are you thinking?” Dean demands, obviously wasn’t aware of Castiel picking up the needle.

“Just need a fix,” Castiel says as calmly as he can.

Dean takes the needle from Castiel. Castiel’s blood gets on Dean’s hands, but he doesn’t deter. “N-no, don’t. Dean, you can’t. ” Castiel’s voice breaks this time. He can’t let Dean do this, he won’t. He snatches his hand away, but Dean grabs him at the wrist, fingers strong and hard against his pulse.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Dean questions, his voice soft and almost fond, though fear is still present.

“What if you can’t?” Castiel whispers. The _what if I die_ is left unsaid. 

“I have to try,” Dean says, lowers the needle, hits the vein, and pushes the plunger down.

Castiel smiles up at Dean, almost sadly as he feels it in his veins. “I would give anything not to have you do this,” he tells Dean honestly but doesn’t hear Dean’s response. His body is too busy adjusting to the fire in his blood. And it hits him hard and fast. Too much, way too quick, but it feels good. 

“Cas, you with me?” Dean asks, hesitantly reaching out and caressing Castiel’s clammy cheek.

 

Castiel wants to respond, tell Dean that he’s right where he wants to be, but he doesn’t. No, he sinks into the darkness, unconsciousness, glad it’s sleep and not death that beckons him today.

**\----**

When Castiel comes to, it’s in his bed. He stretches, allowing his bones and muscles to straighten before curling in on himself. He feels a dull ache in his arm, thinks nothing of it, and closes his eyes with every intention of going back to sleep.

It hits him, as his eyes are shut and he’s drifting comfortably, that he did not fall asleep here, that he was barely coherent the past few days, and that Dean shot him up. He also realizes that he not wearing a shirt, not really sure on why that is, and that’s just a whole mess of things Castiel must deal with.

“You’re awake,” Castiel hears and he groans.

“You’re still here.” Castiel complains, voice heavy with annoyance. He knows that he shouldn’t be rude, but perhaps if he’s mean, Dean will leave with no explanation required. Of course, nothing in Castiel’s life has ever been right, so he isn’t surprised when he feels Dean’s weight on the bed, he undoubtedly moved from sitting in Castiel’s desk chair.

“And I’m not going anywhere until you explain what the hell happened last night,” Dean says calmly.

And Castiel really wishes he could protest, but if Dean is anything like his brother, then Castiel will be burdened with company and questions until he caves. It’s not really worth all of the effort, and Castiel is tired, so explaining is his only logical option.

“I went through withdrawal; it happens.” Castiel explains, hoping against everything that Dean lets it be.

“Yeah, I got that, I meant why. You clearly had the, uh, stuff.” Dean’s face screams confusion. Castiel’s not sure why Dean is so calm about this. If this were Gabriel or even Sam, they would be tearing his head off. Dean just sounds curious, concerned yet intrigued.

"I was punishing myself,” Castiel mumbles. At Dean’s pointed look, Castiel had finally looked at Dean’s tired seeming face, Castiel admits. “For a lot of things. For my life, habits, for what happened with you, everything really.”

 

“What happened with me? What do you mean?” Dean asks, and Castiel detects what seems to be guilt in Dean’s thick and throaty voice.

“No, you misunderstand. It was nothing you did. It was me. I angered you, Dean, and I lied to your brother. I was simply paying myself back is all.”

"What?!” Dean practically yells, clearly shocked. 

This is a secret Castiel has kept all his life, his metaphorical self-flagellation, the chastising, all of it, and Dean is the first person who will ever hear it. That’s terrifying in its own right, so Castiel can’t help himself when his breathing suddenly becomes erratic.

“Woah, hey. Calm down.” Dean whispers soothingly. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to, but just be careful.”

Castiel, in all his life, with all who knew him, had never heard that response. People were curious by nature and always needed answers, it was expected. And yet, here was Dean telling him that his secrets could be kept, that he didn’t have to tell, and that pushed Castiel over the edge.

He shifts closer to Dean suddenly, driven by want and not necessity, and tentatively, Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s firm jaw.

“Why don’t you ask more of me?” Castiel wonders in awe.

Dean places his hand on Castiel’s wrist, and Castiel expects to be pushed away. However, Dean’s hand is just there, a gently pressure of reassurance. “I don’t have to,” Dean says simply. “If you have something to say, you’ll say it. I won’t push.”

Castiel fans out his fingers, but his palm remains in place. He feels the contours of Dean’s cheek and jaw on his fingertips, the sharp bones, the prickly stubble. Dean leans into the touch, near nuzzling, and Castiel sighs. 

What he wants more than anything is to kiss Dean right now, but he doesn’t deserve to, not yet. Instead, he slides his hand down, fingers tracing down his neck until his arm is wrapped around Dean’s shoulder. He leans in, exhales deeply against Dean’s hair. Dean’s hand drops his wrist during the movement, and Castiel is enveloped by Dean’s strong arms. Dean’s hand smooths over Castiel’s hair, and for once Castiel allows himself to cry.

Between broken breaths and sobs, Castiel turns his head, whispers, “Everything started with my father. With my father and with God.”

Dean pulls back, but doesn’t remove his hands, a gesture for Castiel to continue.

“My dad, he was--is an important man, but he was very bored in life. He had several mistresses, despite his wife, resulting in these bastard children. You see, my four brothers, the ones I lived and grew up with, we didn’t have the same mother. We didn’t get a chance to know them, our mothers. We were born, and because my father had so much power and influence, he was granted custody.” Castiel takes a shuddering breath, the easy part of his tale told.

“Is there more?” Dean asks patiently.

Nodding solemnly, Castiel continues. “It wasn’t bad, not for a while, but as I said, my father grew bored of things--people, easily. Soon, my brothers and I were not enough for him. He sought out more children to look after, to lead. He called them his sons; all of them, despite their gender, were his sons. They carried out his will, Dean; he dictated every aspect of their lives, and they followed blindly.”

“How? I don’t understand what would make those kids do that; why their parents would even allow that?” Dean wonders, clearly confused.

“Money is an important commodity, Dean. You’d be surprised how far one is willing to go just for a taste. But I digress. These kids were his sole focus while me and my brothers were left in a house with a nanny and a check every month.”

“Talk about father of the year,” Dean grumbles.

“No, certainly not. He was a cruel man, Dean.”

“That’s not what I meant, it was sarcasm. Just, go on. I’ll shut up now.”

Castiel nods, not sure if he’s ready to explain, but Dean’s there with him, looking at him with patience and kindness, and Castiel musters up the strength.

 

“We were fighting all the time, close quarters and not enough attention. My eldest brothers took the lead as parents, and, putting it mildly, they were strict. They had some secrets of their own, I’m sure-secrets that would quake the core of our broken little family, and I think that’s why they did some of things they did.”

Castiel looks up into Dean’s eyes, already feelings the tightness in his throat and continues. “When I was seven, it was a particularly bad year. My father was visiting, though I can’t recall why, and I remember the yelling. My brothers had done something, something substantial, and it angered my father. I remember Gabriel going in, screaming, telling them to stop, begging just to have a peaceful family. My dad lashed out, nearly knocked him unconscious, while I sat one room away.”

“Damn, that’s heavy.” Dean shudders.

Castiel smiles wryly. “If you think so, just wait. Clearly you noticed my chest, the scars.” At Dean’s nod, Castiel rubs a hand down the offending skin, sending a shiver throughout his entire body at the memory it brings with it. “That same day, among the yelling and abuse, I got these scars.”

"Your dad did this to you?” Dean wonders, astounded and outraged.

Castiel shakes head. “If only it were that simple. You see, I learned to read at a very young age, Dean. Younger than most, and I had a vast understanding of what I read. And I believed everything I read, naively. My oldest brother Luc, he had several occult books, picked up from random places and shops, some my father gave to him. I remember one had a drawing in it, a sigil, to rid a place of evil, and the picture stuck in my mind. During their heated battle, I took a knife from the kitchen drawer, and carved it into my chest, hoping they’d all just go away.”

Castiel hears Dean exhale, muffle the word “Christ,” and Castiel laughs. “Christ had nothing to with this,” he tells Dean. “Nothing at all.”

Dean looks like he wants to say something, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. 

Castiel doesn’t wait for Dean to talk to finish his story. “After that, things sort of went to hell from there. You could say that’s around the same time I found God. You know what else I learned all those years ago?”

Dean shakes his head like he’s afraid of what’s going to come out of Castiel’s mouth. If he were in Dean’s position, he thinks he might be a little bit scared, too.

“I learned that God doesn’t give a shit about any of us. Hell, I doubt he’s even around these days.” The words continue to spew from Castiel’s mouth. “I remember someone telling me once, someone from the church because Dad was adamant about that, we had to go to church. But I remember hearing that God has a plan for us, that he works in mysterious ways, typical biblical bullshit, you know? And I just remember thinking that I bet he does. I bet he set out before time began and planned everyone out, and I’m not blaming him for the way I turned out, I just deviated from the plan. Broke away, free will and all that.”

“So you think God’s real, that he planned out everyone’s lives, and he just doesn’t care anymore?” Dean asks unsure.

Castiel nods almost excitedly so.

“And where does free will play into that notion, Cas? Cuz if he gave everyone it, why’d you end up so...” Dean stops himself, something offensive probably about to spill from his lips.

“Fucked up,” Castiel supplies, taking no offense. He knows the truth, and that’s just fine. At Dean’s nod, he finishes, “Freedom is a length of rope, Dean. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

“That’s a pretty terrible way to look at life, Cas.”

Castiel simply sighs and lies back on the bed, content with going to sleep until the creeping need of his addictions hit him. He’ll explain last night later, content with the explanations he’s given Dean so far.

**\----**

Castiel awakes with Sam in bed, his lean body atop the covers and piling over Castiel like an octopus. Dean is nowhere to be found. “Sam,” Castiel says gently, “you gotta get off me. I have to piss.” 

Sam stirs but makes no move to remove himself from his position. “Sam,” Castiel tries again, louder this time, and reluctantly Sam rolls off of him.

Sam grabs his wrist as he gets up. “You’re gonna come back, right?” Sam looks so young and innocent like this, eyes muddled with sleep, hair askew and out of place.

“Sure thing,” he tells the boy. “I just gotta pee. Coffee sound good?”

Sam snores, and absently wonders why Sam’s here in the first place but pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind in favor of the bathroom. There’s a clean needle in there, already filled with a note. _It’s not yours, something a little less heavy_. It’s signed “Gabriel” and Castiel rolls his eyes before finding a vein, his inner thigh has some nice ones poking out, and inserting the needle.

After making some much-needed coffee, Castiel returns to his room to find Sam snooping through one of his drawers. 

“Sam, that’s private,” Castiel warns, but Sam keeps digging until he finds what Castiel hopes he didn’t.

“What’s this?” Sam asks, holding the leather handle of the whip like it’s something foul. Castiel supposes that it is.

“Mine,” Castiel all but growls before snatching the thing from Sam’s cautious fingers and putting it back.

Sam looks at Castiel’s face with honest curiosity and mild discomfort. “I...Dude. There’s blood on that. And in the drawer.” Sam’s voice comes out weak and strained, like he can’t quite grasp what Castiel would use that particular whip for.

“It’s sexual,” Castiel tries, but Sam can apparently see through his lies because he’s seriously glaring at Castiel with his brow raised and confused. “Okay, it’s not,” Castiel relents. “I need it. To keep myself in line.”

“What? You’re doing that to yourself? You’re hurting yourself on purpose?” Sam’s voice is far from the mild-mannered tone Castiel is used to. 

He doesn’t flinch, but he almost does, managing to shrug instead. “It’s not a big deal,” Castiel tells him. It’s not, really. This is just something he’s always done.

“The hell it isn’t!” Sam yells back. He’s seething with rage, Castiel can tell, and this time, he does flinch. “You’re hurting yourself, dammit. Don’t you see how wrong this is?”

"It’s my choice, Sam.” That’s a lie, it’s not a choice, never has been. It’s just something that is done, a habit too long drawn out to break.

“Why?” Sam asks, eyes pleading with Castiel for the truth.

Castiel can give him that. He sighs. “Because I deserve it.”

Sam doesn’t say anything after that. Instead, he takes Castiel into his arms so he’s awkwardly splayed across Sam’s upper body, and soothingly rubs down his back “It’s okay,” Sam says eventually. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay.” Castiel wishes that there were true so much that he begins to cry. Crying isn’t something Castiel does very often, and he never does it in front of people save his little incident with Dean. So, suffice to say that both Castiel and Sam are equally shocked by this turn of events.

They don’t talk about it anymore as Castiel awkwardly cries in Sam’s arms. There’s no need. Sam won’t be able to change his mind, and Castiel doesn’t want his mind changed. Everything makes sense to him. Or, well, it did until Sam and his idiotic brother came crashing into his life, disrupting the order, making him crave, desire, and want of all things. He wants to be Sam’s friend, wants to see that face every day, even if said face has a mouth that never stops talking. And Castiel thinks, maybe even more than that, he wants to know more about Dean, the man who doesn’t tell Castiel to quit what he’s doing, to change who is is, who seems to accept Castiel flaws and all. It’s a lot to deal with, really.

**\----**

Dean comes to him, days later, with a sad, almost exasperated look on his face. “Y-you,” he starts, and there’s a shake to his tone as he barges in Castiel’s apartment. “Sam told me,” he explains, eliciting a sigh from Castiel.

He shrugs as he walks from his place in the kitchen. “You could knock, you know.”

Dean sighs, scrubs a hand over his face in a clear sign of irritation. “Sam told me,” he repeats, voice growing louder.

“It wasn’t his place.” Really, it wasn’t. This is Castiel’s life, not Sam’s.

Dean’s face turns from sadness and mild annoyance to anger in mere seconds. “Wasn’t his place?” He growls the words out. “You’re his goddamn friend, his best fucking friend. He’s worried about you.”

Castiel can’t help the way he flinches at Dean’s harsh tone. “I-I,” he stammers. “That was never my intention. The things I do; they can’t be helped. It’s not even as if I...I don’t want to do them. The drugs, drinking, punishing myself. I don’t actually like doing these things.”

Dean raises a brow. “You don’t? Then why do it, man?”

Castiel doesn’t respond right away, loses himself in his own thoughts. Honestly, he can’t pinpoint the day he started doing any of this, but the answers to Dean’s question is simple. “I _need_ to, Dean,” he tells him, “I...it’s like something I no longer control, as if everything I do is an addiction.”

"Everything?” Castiel can’t help but hear the defeat in Dean’s tone.

“Up until a few months ago, yes.”

“What happened a few months ago?” Dean asked, nervously fidgeting in the entryway.

This answer was as simple as the last. “I met you.” 

Dean looks taken aback, clearly shocked by this news. “I-what? Why me?’’

Castiel sighs, unsure of how to form the words. “I don’t know,” he nearly whispers. “There’s just--there’s something about you that I want, Dean.”

Dean nods at his words, but he’s frowning. “Why do you make it sound like it’s a bad thing?”

Castiel laughs, a sad, dry sound. “I don’t want things, Dean. I don’t. I do things because I need them, or I’ve just been programmed to need them. I don’t know. I don’t think about anything but myself and getting my needs fulfilled. Or, I didn’t. Until you.”

Dean nods as if he’s trying to process everything Castiel just said. He understands, of course Castiel does, that is certainly some pretty big news. Castiel wouldn’t know how he’d react if someone were to tell him that they are the first thing that they can ever remember wanting. Dean’s reply certainly comes as a surprise.

“I’m glad,” Dean says suddenly, grinning big and wide.

Castiel is confused, rightfully so, and he can’t find it in himself to break the apparent staring contest he and Dean seem to be having. He tilts his head to the side, trying so hard to figure out what would compel Dean to be happy with that. Luckily, he doesn’t have to think for very long.

“I think it’s great to have something that you actively want in life, Cas. I mean, what’s the point if you can’t have that?”

If Castiel was confused before, he’s gone all but crazy now. “What-how? Dean, what are you saying?”

Dean smiles, takes a step closer to Castiel. “I think you know,” Dean replies, still walking closer.

“I don’t,” Castiel replies, “Really, I don’t.” With each step Dean takes towards him, Castiel, in kind, backs up. His back hits the wall, his hands resting at his sides. “Dean?” He says, though it’s more question than statement,

“Cas,” Dean whispers, face just inches from his own face, hand moving up to the part of the wall by Castiel’s head. 

Closing that small bit of space between his mouth and Dean’s seems the most natural to him, so that’s what he does. Tentatively, Castiel gently holds Dean’s wrist near his own face and leans forward. It’s chaste, just a simple press of lips, but Castiel pulls away like Dean’s mouth was made of fire.

The look Dean gives him makes Castiel want to take that last move back, to kiss that confused, near hurt expression that masks over Dean’s eyes, but he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel stammers out. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Dean nods almost thoughtfully before he retracts his hand and steps away. “I...Uh.” He starts as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, a move that Castiel has learned that Dean does when he’s anxious. “I just thought...You know what, nevermind. I gotta go.” And as soon as Dean says that, he’s out the door.

Castiel sighs, lets his back slide down the wall until he’s seated on the floor. “Great,” he mutters. “Just fucking great.”


	4. Not Enough Time

It has been entirely too long since Castiel got laid. Weeks too long, and despite his failure with Dean the other day, Castiel is sure Dean meant nothing by it, so he has no qualms with calling up four of his regular people and inviting them to what he would call, a spiritual bonding ceremony. Well, that’s what he tells them. In all actuality, it’s an orgy. But hey, whatever works.

The incense is a bit much, but it adds to the effect. He doesn’t see it as taking advantage of them; they know what this is about. But it’s the act. They feel more connected with him. Or something; most of the time Castiel is entirely too focused on the beautiful bodies shedding their clothes to pay too much attention.

He knows their names, though he never uses them. They don’t matter as they sit here in this circle on one of the rugs in Castiel’s living room. He doesn’t take them into his bedroom, that’s his area. They don’t get to see that. 

Castiel is talking to them, telling them about the physical aspects of spirituality, his hands rubbing down on of the men’s firm chest, explaining his point, when Dean walks in.

“You could use a key, you know,” Castiel says plainly, turning his head to face Dean.

Dean looks puzzled, and he might even look intrigued. “I--what are you doing?” Dean asks as he shuffles his feet.

Castiel sighs and drops his hand. “Why don’t you go get washed up for the orgy? It seems he and I have things to discuss.”

Once they have all dispersed, Castiel turns to Dean. “Do you need something?” He asks, tone annoyed because Dean interrupted something important.

Dean looks confused, flustered even. “I...well. What the hell was that?”

Castiel rolls his eyes; he’s not even going to dignify that question with a response. He already said it was an orgy; it’s self-explanatory. 

“I mean...You were gonna, y’know, with all of them?” Dean asks.

“That is the plan, yes,” Castiel replies easily. 

“Still?” Dean asks, voice full of disbelief. 

"Yes, still. If you leave. Or,” Castiel pauses, smiles up at Dean slowly. “Or, you can stay...if you want. Partake if you wish.”

Dean actually looks like he’s considering it, but he shakes his head. “Man, that’s just...No.”

Castiel didn’t exactly expect Dean to say yes, so this isn’t a surprise. He can’t help but feel disappointed even still. 

“They could leave,” Dean suggests.

Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean would want that. Of course, Dean could be uncomfortable with the idea entirely, doesn’t want Castiel to get laid. He doesn’t get to think much further on those ideas before Dean interrupts him.

“I could stay,” he suggests, thoroughly confusing Castiel again. “I could, and I will, if they leave.”

There really isn’t much of a choice. That many people or one of Dean. His answer comes easily. “Yes,” he tells Dean. “Yes, stay.”

Castiel makes quick work of dismissing his previous companions despite their protests. This is Dean, he’s thinking about. Dean he wants and Dean who he might actually get to have, if only for just a little while. It’s worth it, very worth it to Castiel.

Once everyone is gone, Dean comes to sit on the couch. “I wanted. I didn’t plan this.”

Of course, Dean didn’t plan this. That much is obvious so Castiel rolls his eyes.

“I mean,” Dean tries, the words must come to him with trouble. “I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else.”

Castiel furrows his brow, wonders when he’ll actually get to sleeping with Dean because that would be lovely.

“Wait, though, I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. Don’t get me wrong, I want to, but I wanna do this right with you.” Dean tells him.

“What? What are saying, Dean? You want to...date _me_?”

“Yes?”

“Yes or no, which is it? When you say it like that I can’t be sure,” Castiel replies.

This has potential to be big, life-changing even, and Castiel doesn’t know to react to that. On one hand, he doesn’t date ever. He fucks and moves on; that’s it. But, and Castiel knows this part is greater, he wants Dean, however he can get him for as long as he’s able. Now it just comes down to Dean’s answer.

“Yes, Cas. I want to date you.” Dean answers and his voice is sure and a little firm. He says it with such conviction that Castiel actually is taken aback, surprised, dumbfounded. He doesn’t believe it.

"Why?” Castiel asks. He can’t understand why Dean would want to be with someone like him, so messed up and broken. And Dean, he knows most of Castiel’s secrets and he still wants to be there, still wants more. There’s no way this is happening. Also, “Sam says you’re not even gay.”

Dean shrugs, opting to answer the second part first. “I’m more of an equal opportunist when it comes to sex, but it doesn’t feel like that with you. This, I dunno, whatever it is between us, I want it more than I’ve wanted most things in my life.”

Castiel nods, tries to process everything he was just told. Dean wants him, wants to date him, and sleep with him someday, and Castiel...he’s elated. He can’t voice his words though, still so much in shock over the possibility.

“So,” Dean begins after minutes of awkward silence. “Whaddu you say, Cas? Wanna give us a shot?”

“Yes,” Castiel practically growls, can’t believe this is happening. “Yes, more than anything.”

Dean’s answering grin more than makes up for the fact that Castiel is not getting laid anytime in the foreseeable future. Someday though, he and Dean will, and Castiel has no doubts that it will be wondrous.

**\----**

Castiel learns many things about his new boyfriend over the next few weeks. And, that’s weird enough. Castiel has a boyfriend who _likes_ him. It’s strange. It’s overwhelming. It’s, as Dean would say, awesome.

To the point, Castiel learns that Dean and Sam are the only kids their parents had. Castiel discovers that Dean and Sam were brought up by their mother, their father having died in a house fire when they were children. Castiel finds out that Dean is even louder and more outspoken than he originally thought. He learns that Dean is passionate about less than five things. To make Dean happy, the man just needs his car, his brother, beer, and a pie. Recently, it seems that in order to make Dean happy, the man needs Castiel. Castiel isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that, but he finds he likes it.

They fight, loud and often; they argue about what they’re eating, and where they’re going. Sometimes, things get more serious, the fights aren’t so normal. It’s Castiel’s fault, really, with all his insecurities.

The biggest blowout they had resulted in a very heated make-out session, but that’s hardly the point.

Castiel’s sitting on the floor, a joint between his fingers, and Dean just rolls his eyes and sips his beer. Castiel’s feeling rather chatty this evening, and there’s something he’s always wanted to address.

“I never really thanked you.” Castiel begins as he sets the roach in the ashtray, stretching out his back with his arms raised high over his head.

“Thank me? For what?” Dean asks, seemingly unsure of what Castiel’s referring to.

 

“For saving me.”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I did, and even if I wasn’t, it was my job.” Dean shrugs, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. 

Castiel sighs, but he’s not finished yet. “You weren’t saving much.”

“Don’t say that.” Dean says as he puts the empty bottle on the floor next to him,

“I mean it, Dean. What do I have? What kind of life is this? It’s not worth a damn thing and you know it.”

Dean looks offended for the briefest of moments, but his face fades to a blank expression. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe right now, your life sucks. Maybe the world hasn’t been kind to you, but that’s no fucking excuse, Cas. You do this because you’re a coward, you hide behind the drugs and the money and the sex, use it as a crutch because you’re too fucking weak to open your eyes and see what’s in front of you.”

Castiel is taken aback by Dean’s words, and they hit home...hard. Maybe Dean’s right about some of it, but Castiel still doesn’t see whatever Dean is referring to.

His tone is laced with sarcasm, and he looks to Dean, who somehow got a lot closer, with annoyance more than anything else. “Really? What’s in front of me? What is it that I’m missing. Enlighten me, please.”

Dean makes this frustrated growling sound that rumbles from deep within his stomach before he launches himself at Castiel. Castiel’s prepared for a fist but what he gets is much better. Dean’s mouth is fire and passion, and every part of Castiel feels alive and anew with each touch. It goes on for some time before Castiel promises to not talk like that anymore.

Dean really is good for Castiel, and things are going, for the most part, exceptionally well. Yes, Dean even manages to get Castiel from his penthouse from time to time. It’s a little disconcerting that Castiel readily agrees to Dean’s suggestions, but it’s not a bad thing. In fact, Castiel has never felt more happiness that he does with Dean.

The first time Dean has Castiel leave the comforts of home, things get a little tense. They’re out at a movie, ordinary enough, but Castiel doesn’t like the darkness or the crowd, and he’s entirely too stoned.

“Dean, please. I wanna go home.” Castiel begs, his hand gripping Dean’s tightly in the dark room of the theatre. 

Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand in what Castiel assumes is a reassuring manner, but when he speaks, he sounds annoyed. “C’mon, Cas. We’ve been here, what? Ten minutes? Give it a chance.”

They’re shushed by other patrons, and Castiel wants to kill everyone. Seriously, he’s thought about it. He’s close to panicking, really doesn’t want to be here at all, but then Dean leans over and quiets Castiel’s racing mind with his lips.

Every kiss with Dean is something new and different, perfect in it’s own way, and this one is no exception. The movie is forgotten in favor of lips, teeth, and tongue. They continue the kiss, only stopping for air, until the movie ends and the lights come on, and Dean beams at Castiel.

"See, that wasn’t so hard.” Dean grins, leaning in to nip at Castiel’s lower lip before pulling away, standing up. They don’t hold hands, but Dean keeps his arm around Castiel’s lower back as they make their exit.

Things with Dean are never easy, but Dean more than makes up for any discomfort Castiel feels. He’s a great listener, loyal to a fault, and Castiel has never had a healthier relationship, romantic or otherwise, except maybe Sam.

Sam was a little apprehensive when he first learned of Dean and Castiel’s relationship, but that time has long passed. Sam seems genuinely happy for them both, and he thinks that they’re good for each other, that one might make the other get on the right track.

Things change and progress, some things don’t. Dean and Castiel...together, they feel unstoppable, invincible, but they’ve had some close calls.

The closest of calls happens slowly and then all at once. Dean’s sitting on Castiel couch with Sam’s feet in his lap. Castiel likes to think he’s the reason for their warped up sense of personal space. He’s breaking boundaries, he swears it. 

Castiel is outside, finds it easier to take some of the harder stuff away from Sam, doesn’t want him seeing him so...fucked up. And that’s what Castiel wants, to get so fucked up that he’s just flying so high the rest of the evening. It’s been one of those days.

He swallows half a dozen or so of those little, yellow pills, thinks maybe they could be Klonopin, a sleep aid, but he’s been wrong before. Still, Castiel knows his body, knows what’s needed to get him where he needs to be. 

After nearly half an hour, Castiel feels nothing and doubles his dose. It’s no big deal, Castiel’s been here before, and he smiles as he leans back against the outer wall of the house and stares up at the stars. He’s always liked stars, how they shine against the black, velvety sky, and he feels like he’s up there, floating among them. They make him feel close to home somehow.

He doesn’t know anything’s wrong until he hears Dean shout for him, and Castiel, for the life of him, cannot stand up. Dean yells something inaudible, and Castiel assumes he’s gone for the evening. The stars look so pretty, so bright and beautiful, and Castiel wants to feel lost again, so he tries to take another.

“What the fuck?” Dean yells, and he’s in Castiel’s personal space before he even registers what’s going on.

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. His head falls back against the wall, and he gets caught up in the sky again. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he feels Dean’s hand connect with the side of his face in a hard slap. Castiel thinks Dean might be trying to rouse him. “How many did you take?!” Dean demands, and Castiel can barely even shrug.

“Shit. Shit, shit. Cas, what the hell?” Dean’s panicking, Castiel can tell, but it’s just so hard to keep his eyes open. 

Dean’s strong hands come up and under his arms, and Castiel feels his body drag against cement and then carpet. Dean’s words don’t make sense, but nothing really does in this moment. It’s loud, deafening, and all Castiel wants is to drift off into that brilliant darkness.

It’s cold. So cold, and Castiel’s eyes snap open like blinds in a window sill. He groans since words won’t leave his lips, and he realizes he’s in the shower, fully clothed with the water running cold over his head.

One of Dean’s arms is around his waist, and Castiel barely feels the hand trying to pry his jaw open. He’s not sure why, and he tries to get out of the hold. His body feels cold, like needles are piercing and stabbing him, and he needs to get away. 

They sink down to the floor of the tub, and Dean’s wiping Castiel’s hair from his face, whispering things that Castiel doesn’t understand in his ear. “Please.” Castiel hears, “You gotta stay with me.” Is another popular phrase tonight. Where else Castiel would go, he doesn’t know. Dean’s all he’s ever wanted, and he doesn’t plan on leaving.

He’s sinking, sliding down into that abyss, and he loves every second of it. More time, unrecordable time passes, and Castiel’s being bent over with Dean’s deft fingers working their way into his mouth. Castiel’s stomach lurches, and he wants to tell Dean to stop, but there’s a finger at the back of his throat and... _oh_. 

Oh, no. This isn’t what Castiel wanted at all. He just took too much. It was an accident. He stops trying to fight, and when his stomach threatens to spill its contents, Castiel leans over more and lets it.

Later, when they’re both lying down in Castiel’s bed, both dry and warm, silent and distant despite their close proximity, Castiel thanks him. It’s a big step since the last time, and Dean tries to give him a small but tired smile. 

Castiel reaches for Dean’s hand, but Dean tugs it away before Castiel even has a chance. “You really scared me tonight.” Dean admits in a small voice, and Castiel shutters in his shame.

“I didn’t want that to happen. I don’t want to leave you or Sam or anything.” 

No more words are said, but when Castiel turns on his side that night to go to sleep and feels Dean’s solid weight at his back and his strong arms on Castiel’s waist, he knows Dean’s forgiven him. Things go back to pretty much normal after that.

In a way, they’re a makeshift family. Dean and Sam have all but moved in, and Castiel is strangely okay with the change in dynamic. Sam is already enrolling in school for the fall, and Dean is promoted to legitimate job with the local police force so there are no more light night ‘wake-up calls’’ anymore like Dean used to have when he only patrolled the apartment complex. Castiel has even found himself inspired to put pen to paper, or, in this case, hands to the keys. He, along with the help of Dean and his brother, turned that small storage space of a loft into an office for Castiel. He spends a good bit of his days there, and his passion is renewed. He’s writing like he used to, and he’s even working on a novel. Suffice to say, life has never been better for Castiel. There is just one, small, tiny thing that has Castiel worried. They’ve been in the relationship for several months now, and Castiel and Dean still haven’t slept together.

Four months into their relationship, of Dean playing the role of Castiel’s boyfriend, Castiel is convinced they’re never going to have sex. He’s certain of it. He doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he should. They do other things, wonderful things that has Castiel sated and complaint free, but as for actual sex and actual naked Dean in front of him, no, that hasn’t happened. Yet. Hopefully it will soon, but Castiel doesn’t mind waiting, will wait forever if he has to, because Dean means that much to him.

For all of Dean’s quirks, for all Dean’s little habits, his bad eating, the drinking, the loud rock music at random hours of the night, Castiel might actually love him. This is a huge deal. Of course, Dean hasn’t mentioned anything like that, and Castiel won’t talk about it either. They don’t do the chick flick sort of speak. Dean’s rules.

**\----**

Castiel is exhausted, pent up, and on edge. He hits a bowl to calm his nerves right before Dean gets home. _Home_ , that is interesting to think about. This is Dean’s home now, mostly. It’s nice, this feeling of sharing his life with someone else.

Dean walks in covered in blood, and instantly Castiel thinks the worst. “Dean?” His voice is full of panic and trepidation.

Dean waves him off. “It’s not mine,” he assures Castiel as he makes his way to the bathroom, shedding blood-soaked clothes in his wake. “Shit got heavy. This guy came at me with a gun, and I didn’t have a choice.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he just stands there at the bathroom’s opening, leaning against the door frame. “I...did he make it?”

Dean smiles a bit at the question, nods. “Yeah, I didn’t shoot to kill. He’ll get his punishment in prison.”

Castiel is relieved, doesn’t want Dean to deal with the inevitable guilt that would come from taking someone’s life.

As Dean’s about to tug off the pants of his uniform, Castiel turns to leave. “Cas, wait.” Dean says, and Castiel whips his head around, eyebrow arching in question.

“I want you to stay,” Dean tells him. “Figure you might, I dunno...” Dean shrugs, fumbles with the zipper on his pants.

Truthfully, Castiel would love to see Dean in all his glory, but surely Dean is still stressed from the day, and Castiel, despite his previous sexual exploits, is very self-conscious about all of his scarring and track marks. Dean has seen most, has seen him without his shirt on a few occasions, but never more than that, and Castiel’s thighs have more needle marks than Castiel likes to admit. It’s not appealing at all.

“I don’t know.” Castiel hesitates, hand rubbing against the back of his neck as he stares down Dean’s body. It sure looks inviting.

Dean smiles easily. “Yes, you do,” Dean says, and Castiel supposes he’s right. “We’re not...” Dean begins as he slides his pants down, letting Castiel see the line of Dean’s flaccid length through dark boxer-briefs. “This isn’t about sex.”

“Oh,” Castiel replies and can’t help but hide the disappointment in his tone.

“I just, can we just take a shower? Together?”

Castiel gets it then, how Dean doesn’t want to be alone, and he finds himself nodding, fingers moving to open his shirt, buttons coming undone slowly before sliding it down and off his shoulders. Dean is watching, and Castiel is very aware of the eyes on his body. His chest is probably getting most attention, but Castiel knows the reasoning behind it, having already told Dean the particulars on that scar months ago.

Castiel worries his lip between his teeth when he slides his pants down, tugging his underwear along with it. He stills feels Dean’s eyes on him as he steps out of the pants and moves closer to the shower. 

With his back turned, Castiel finally has the nerve to speak. “...I know,” he begins, voice small and timid. “I know what my body looks like, and I know it’s not the best. But it is the only one I have.” 

Castiel feels Dean’s hand at his hip and he turns, facing him. Dean runs his hand down Castiel’s chest, fingertips lightly brushing over the scars, but his eyes, they never leave Castiel’s. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Dean says so quietly that Castiel almost misses it. Dean leans forward then, lightly pressing his lips to Castiel’s briefly before retreating. He moves to open the shower door and he steps inside, hand left out in invitation, and Castiel gladly obliges.

The water, once turned on, is warm on Castiel’s skin, and he tilts his head back, the mist spraying his face as he shuts his eyes. Dean must have retrieved the shampoo from the shelf because Castiel smells his before strong, calloused hands work his hair into a rich lather, eliciting small moans from Castiel as Dean rakes his nails along his scalp.

Once Castiel’s hair is clean, Dean takes the time to wash the rest of Castiel, never commenting, just washing Castiel’s body as if it were his own. Castiel wants to return the favor, but Dean doesn’t let him. 

They step out together once they’re both done, and Dean towels Castiel off before doing the same to himself. Castiel makes move to slip his pants back on, but a gentle hand at his wrist prevents him from doing so. Castiel is tugged to the bedroom, Dean occasionally glancing back at him and smiling.

They reach the bedroom, and Dean flicks on the light and drops Castiel’s hand, his eyes leering at Castiel’s body as if he were trying to memorize every single detail. Castiel takes in the sight of Dean’s naked body for the first time really, having not paid attention during the shower. Dean had said it wasn’t about sex, and Castiel didn’t want certain parts of his body to get confused.

Now, looking at the subtle muscling of Dean’s chest and abdomen, the dust of freckles over most of his body, Castiel is glad he waited. Dean is every bit as beautiful as Castiel imagined, perhaps even more so.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, and Castiel snaps back into focus. Castiel bites his lip as he heads to the bed, suddenly feeling like a freak in comparison. He tries to cover himself, but Dean stops him just as before. “Don’t.” Dean says, and Castiel listens. 

Castiel feels the weight of Dean on the bed as Dean comes to loom over him, nudging Castiel’s thighs apart and sitting between them. Castiel sucks in a breath, exhales shakily and slowly, excited and nervous for what’s to follow.

Dean picks up Castiel’s wrist and smiles, lips coming to brush across the marks there, traveling up his arm, taking care to hit every old scar and new bruise.

“D-Dean.” Castiel stammers out, confused, nervous, and excited. “What...what are you doing?”

“Showing you...” Dean smiles as he moves to Castiel’s other wrist. “I’m showing you how awesome you are, how all of you is.”

Castiel shutters at how sure Dean sounds, and for a moment, Castiel lets himself think that he could be like that, that he is wonderful or awesome as Dean says he is. 

Once Dean has kissed and licked every mark on Castiel’s upper body, Dean moves to his thighs, doing the same until Castiel is relaxed but filled with anticipation. 

Dean is hard as he leans over Castiel’s body, hands planted on either side of Castiel’s head as he leans down and brushes their mouths together. It’s slow and steady, Dean feels so sure, so right against him, his tongue tangling easily with Castiel’s, sliding with just the right amount of pressure. 

Castiel’s whole body is tingling, feels frozen and aflame all at once when Dean rests his weight against him, pinning Castiel to the bed, chest to chest. Castiel lets out a breathy sort of moan at the sensation. “Dean.” He whimpers, and it must sound so sad because Dean takes pity on him, ruts against him.

Castiel’s hands seek purchase at Dean’s strong, firm back, nails digging in again as he helplessly, mindless bucks his hips against Dean’s. “Please, Dean,” he begs, seeking more. “I need this. Need you.”

Dean pulls off Castiel so fast that he’s left dumbfounded and breathless. “Dean?” Castiel sits, places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, what is it?”

Dean looks over at Castiel with a sad smile. “You said...” he begins, voice shaky. “You said you needed me.”

Castiel instantly realizes his error and shakes his head. “Dean, please. I didn’t...I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t, Dean. Okay? I don’t need you, but I _want_ you. I want you so much I can’t stand it sometimes.” Castiel explains, all his words true. He could survive without Dean; he knows this. He just never wants to.

Dean nods like he’s thinking over what Castiel said before leaning over to Castiel and coming back with a small bottle of lubricant as well as a condom. 

“You want this?” Dean asks as he positions himself between Castiel’s legs and begins to slick up his fingers.

Castiel nods vigorously as Dean uses his clean hand to press Castiel back against the mattress. “I do, Dean.” There’s promise in Castiel’s words. “More than anything, I want you.” Dean bites his lip, and Castiel forces himself to look away.

At first, Castiel feels nothing before everything suddenly feels more alive. He feels every sensation, every bit of pain twinged with unbelievable pleasure as Dean’s sharp teeth nip at the bone on Castiel’s slim hip. He can feel how Dean positions and moves him, strong hands gripping Castiel’s hips hard and knees nudging his thighs apart even further. 

"Dean,” Castiel pleads. “Please, I want....I want...”

Dean chuckles. “You want?”

“You,” Castiel growls, “Just you. Now, hurry. Please.”

Dean slaps Castiel’s thigh lightly, and Castiel feels over-sensitized enough as it is. “I’m getting there.” Dean assures him.

Castiel nods, breathes, and forces himself to relax when he feels Dean’s cold and wet finger brush against his entrance. He lets out a shaky breath, hands fisted in the sheets the second Dean presses inside. Castiel is moaning openly by the time Dean adds a second finger, writhing when he feels a third.

The dull ache and a fleeting burn are forgotten as Dean stretches him open, deft and nimble fingers spreading apart. Dean is skilled with his hands, Castiel soon discovers. He feels Dean remove his fingers, and it leaves Castiel with a sense of loss before he feels the slicked tip of Dean’s cock press against him. Dean doesn’t move inside, only rests there, and Castiel peers into his eyes. 

“Look at you.” Dean comments, voice surprisingly strong in light of their current situation. “You’ve always been so beautiful, but like this...” Dean whispers the words like they’re a secret, like Castiel is the only one who’s to hear them. “Like this, you’re nearly perfect.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do with the love and near adoration he hears in Dean’s tone, so he gets rid of the feeling as soon as possible, forcing his body lower. The anticipation is slow and agonizing, and the pain that follows is overwhelming. Dean stills his movements. 

When Castiel feels nothing but excitement and desire, he urges Dean on, hands coming to rest on Dean’s hips. Dean is buried inside him, and Castiel feels nothing but Dean, and it feels good, right even. “D-Dean.” He says, voice desperate and ragged. “Please. Move.”

Dean wastes no time in picking up the pace, and Castiel has never felt so full. He can barely breathe with how perfect and honest everything feels, these two people, lovers, in the lighted room, connecting their bodies in ways Castiel had never known possible. Dean’s long drags out feel intoxicating, and the slams he’s faced with next leave him crying out and begging for more.

Castiel arches his back off the bed, hands tugging Dean by the hips, urging Dean harder and faster. Castiel loses the ability to do anything, anything except push back and want, want whatever Dean is willing to give him.

He’s vaguely aware of the sounds Dean’s making, the praises Castiel receives; he’s too lost in the overwhelming sensation. His heart is beating rapidly, his breath staggered and panted, the muscles in his abdomen and thighs spasm.

One of Dean’s hand grips loosely at Castiel’s dick, and he tugs it once...twice, and Castiel can do nothing but cry out and writhe in the sheets. He feels panic, frustration, and a constant desire right before he’s feeling the warmth spurts of his own fluid that spill onto his abdomen. “Dean...” He cries as his body convulses. “Dean, I-I...I love you.” 

Above him, Dean’s relentless, merciless for a dozen or so strong thrusts inward, and then he’s coming with a loud, strangled kind of moan. Castiel can feel the warmth of Dean’s releases through the thin layer of latex as Dean breaks inside him, Dean’s dick twitching. Dean is panting, his breath rough, and sweat beads down from his face as he looms over Castiel through the aftershocks, hips lazily rolling.

Dean practically collapses on top of Castiel, and he feels when Dean pulls out, feels the loss. It doesn’t last because Dean is coming in close, pulling Castiel over and on him, Dean’s hand coming to rub through Castiel’s hair, his lips at Castiel’s forehead.

Castiel realizes the words he’s just said in a moment of pure ecstasy, and though he feels them, though they are true, Castiel wishes he hadn’t said anything of the sort.

“Dean, about what I said,” Castiel begins, and Dean silences him with a sloppy kiss. Castiel sighs and rests his head on Dean’s chest, fingers rubbing senseless patterns on Dean’s stomach. 

“We’ll talk about it when I get off work tomorrow.” Dean tells him with a yawn. “I promise.”

Castiel nods, his breath slowing, eyes dropping closed. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

Moments later, with Dean’s arm wrapped around him, the man silently snoring, Castiel smiles. He’s sure he’s never been happier.

**\----**

When Castiel wakes up, he’s alone, but it’s not a new thing. Dean has to work earlier than Castiel needs to get up, and Castiel isn’t a morning person. There’s a note on the bedside table from Dean reminding Castiel about their talk, as if Castiel could forget.

It’s exciting, Castiel thinks, that Dean knows, that Dean might feel the same. He shaves, knows this will be the first time Dean sees his face free from any scruff or stubble, and he showers and dresses quickly, grabs some coffee before he heads up into his office. He’s inspired and needs to write.

Castiel smiles as he slips out of his office, his fingers cramped from typing all day, but he’d been on a roll and couldn’t stop. He frowns slightly when he glances at the clock, already past six o’clock, and both Sam and Dean haven’t returned. Dean being late is nothing new, not these days, and he smiles at how much initiative Dean has shown over the past few months. Castiel vaguely remembers Sam saying something about having a study session, but Castiel can’t be sure.

Castiel takes his time walking down the steps, fingers winding down the railing. He notices the answering machine blinking in the distance, assumes its Sam telling them that’d he be late, and makes his way down the steps, stopping when he gets to the machine. He hits the button, two missed calls, both occurring around ten this morning. The first message was from Sam, confirming his study date, but when Dean’s voice comes out of the machine, Castiel’s heart warms.

“Hey man.” Castiel hears Dean say. Dean must have taken a deep breath because Castiel hears the exhale before talking starts up again. “I, uh, I just wanted to, well I need to tell you something, I, well, I love you. You knew that, right? Please tell me that you knew.”

Of course, Castiel knew. He may have had some doubts, minor ones, but deep down, Castiel knew, knows. Dean’s breathing again on the message, long and deep, like he can’t get enough air before he starts, continues.

“I should have said it, felt it for so damn long, and I never even said. I...God, Cas, I keep wishing I could go back, ya know? See your face when I told you, but I can’t. And I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” Castiel can hear the way Dean’s voice cracks, almost see the tears in his eyes, and Castiel finds himself crying right along with the recording. He has to turn away, can’t face it, and he looks to his living room, nearly runs into the couch. He doesn’t understand why Dean sounds so scared.

“You’re probably listening to this after spending hours holed up in that room of yours. It’s gonna be awesome, ya know. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Castiel is scared now, completely terrified as he listens to Dean’s shaky voice on that goddamn machine. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m talking about, man. And I bet you’re a little worried, and I’m sorry that I have to do this. I wish...God, I wish I didn’t have to, and I’m just...I’m sorry.”

Tears flowing freely, Castiel grips the back of the couch, knees on the verge of buckling. _This is it_ , he thinks, this is when Dean realizes that Castiel is nothing more than a fuck up and even though Dean loves him, it’s not enough.

There’s noise in the background with Dean, crackling that Castiel doesn’t understand. A long crash startles Castiel, and Dean talks again with panicked breaths. “Shit! There’s not a lot of time. It’s all coming down, Cas, and they can’t get me out. I just...you’re gonna do so good without me. I’m so proud of you, love you so much.” Another loud crash has Castiel on his knees. “You take care of Sammy for me, be there for him ‘cause he’s not as strong as you. He won’t be able to handle it.” Castiel can hear Dean’s choked, coughing and gagging. There’s a fire, Castiel’s sure of it. Dean speaks before Castiel has time to register what that really means. 

“You take care of yourself. I just...you’ll be fine, you don’t need me, remember? Just know that I love you and Sam, and you’ll do fine.” The line goes dead, and Castiel realizes that so did Dean, right there. He can’t breathe, can’t move because it’s not true, it can’t be true. It’s just a joke, a cruel, evil joke, but any minute now Dean’s gonna come barreling in that door with a grin and a wink, and Castiel will pout, and they will be fine.

Castiel alerts at the door knob turning, he wants to call out Dean’s name, but he doesn’t trust his voice. He doesn’t have to wait long before Sam walks in, a grin on his face before he catches sight of Castiel, still on the ground, eyes watery and red-rimmed.

Sam is at his side at an instant. “Cas? Cas, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” Sam pleads.

Castiel shakes his head, tries to speak, but the words won’t come out. “Come on, Cas,” Sam says. “You’re scaring me.”

“D-Dean.” Is all Castiel manages before breaking down, messy tears and snot running down his face, Sam cradling Castiel’s head to his chest, his fingers running through Castiel’s hair.

“What about Dean?” Sam says cautiously, and Castiel can hear the hitch in his breath.

“He...h-he’s gone, Sam,” Castiel cries, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sam is shaking his head viciously. “What do you mean gone, Castiel? Where’d he go?” Castiel knows Sam is not stupid, that Sam knows his brother wouldn’t leave without telling him. Sam must get that too because he sucks in a stuttering breath. “No, no. You’re wrong, Castiel.” He’s pushing Cas away, scrambling across the floor. “He’s not. You’re lying. Why would you lie about something like this? It’s not funny, Cas. Please.” Sam was begging now, his eyes pleading with Castiel to make it better. “Please, just tell me you’re lying.” If only Castiel could.

Castiel can’t do move, wishes more than anything that it was all just some joke, and he shakes his head because Dean is gone, and he’s not coming back. Everything he’s ever wanted just disappeared.

Hours later, though it could have been days, Sam and Castiel are tangled in a mess of limbs and tears, having shed all their bodies would allow, there’s a knock at the door. Castiel gets up in haste to answer it because perhaps they were wrong, perhaps Dean is home right now.

Castiel should have known better; Dean didn’t knock. There’s a man in a uniform, police issue but more formal than street clothes, and he’s holding a folded flag. “Is there a Sam Winchester here?” He asks, and Castiel can tell this man knew Dean by the way his voice cracked when he asked a question.

Sam is at the door almost instantly, and his face falls when he sees the offered flag. “I’m sorry, son,” the man says, but Castiel doesn’t listen anymore after that. Instead he goes to his room, the room he and Dean shared last night, and crumbles into a heap. The bed, it smells like Dean, is almost painful to be in. He sleeps, sleeps for minutes, hours or days, he doesn’t know, just inhales deeply every so often, trying to remember everything he just lost.

The funeral happens the day after, and Castiel refuses to go. Sam says it was nice, so there’s that. Castiel is angry, rightfully so, he thinks, so he spends the day blitzed out of his mind and yelling.

“I hate you!” He screams to no one, but his words are for Dean. “How dare you do this!” Castiel cries. “How dare you make me want you, let me have you, and how fucking dare you for leaving me alone!”

Between yells and cries, Castiel sleeps. There’s nothing else he wants to do.

Castiel lets out a breath around the fourth day after Dean’s death, finally leaving the comfort and protection of his room. Sam needs him, and he has to live up to what Dean expects of him.

He finds Sam in his own apartment, in Dean’s old room clutching some random picture. “Sam...Sam, I’m sorry.” And when Sam’s head snaps up, Castiel sees the tears and he rushes over. He cradles the taller man against his chest, rocking him back and forth, fingers carding through Sam’s long hair.

Things get better after that day, somewhat. They’re both in pain, Sam and Castiel, but they’re trying to deal with it together.


	5. Aftermath

Castiel wakes up with a smile on his face. He’s hungry. Dean will be hungry. He doesn’t look at his bed before he makes his way to the kitchen, bare feet scurrying across each cold, wooden floorboard.

Waffles and bacon are things Castiel enjoys making, things Dean enjoys eating. Sam is out, didn’t come home last night, and Castiel thinks he might have made a new friend. Dean will have to talk to Sam about that later.

When the food is prepared, Castiel sets the table. Two plates, two forks, knifes, glasses of orange juice. Two of everything. He makes coffee just the way Dean likes it and then he calls for the man.

When there is no answer, Castiel frowns. “Dean!” He shouts again. Nothing.  
He’s not coming, Castiel realizes. He’s never coming down those steps again because he’s dead, and he’s gone, and he’s never coming back to Castiel. He cries out, throws the coffee cup against the cabinet, sending broken glass and hot liquid throughout the room. He sinks to his knees, the food forgotten as he chokes out broken, wrecked sobs.

That’s how he is when Sam finds him. Sam goes to Castiel right away, dropping down beside him. “Shh, I’ve got you.” Sam tells him as he cradles Castiel against body. “It’s okay.” Sam’s crying too, now, Castiel can hear it.

He turns to Sam then, hands bracing Sam’s face, thumbing the tears falling from Sam’s eyes. “It’s not.” Castiel’s voice is treacherous and shattered. “It’s not okay because he’s gone.”

Sam doesn’t argue because they both know it’s true. Castiel isn’t sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows, he’s pinned to the ground. Sam is above him, mouth pressed against his own, and Castiel can feel Sam’s tears on his face.

Castiel should pull back, he knows this, but he can’t. He finds himself bucking against Sam, slamming his tongue inside Sam’s mouth and pressing as close as he can get. All the while, between the shedding of clothing, desperate forceful and deliberate movements, Dean is at the back of his mind, and Castiel can guarantee Dean’s in Sam’s head now, too.

As Sam forces his way inside of Castiel, his ass loosened with the minimum of preparation, he cries out, loud and alarming. Sam slams his hips, and Castiel rakes his nails down Sam’s back, forces their bodies closer. When Castiel comes, he cries, and Sam follows soon after, his face wreaked as he collapses on the ground next to Castiel.

They don’t speak, don’t utter a sound, but Sam moves to cradle Castiel against his chest, his arms sure and strong, and they fall asleep.

Sometime during the day, Sam withdraws, his face sporting a sad smile. “We’ll be fine.” Castiel can hear the lie in Sam’s voice, but Castiel doesn’t think it’s a lie, not anymore.

Castiel takes Sam’s hand, squeezed it tightly. “We will. We both will.”

Perhaps this is why this happened, why they both felt the need to push for all they could get for something better to come from it. Castiel thinks so, thinks Dean would feel the same.

**\----**

When Castiel wakes the next morning, he doesn’t feel the urge to get high, just the need, no, the want for help. 

Things aren’t okay when he goes to greet Sam. Castiel slings the bag he packed off his shoulder, and Sam looks up at him hesitantly while Castiel moves further down the stairs after collected what he needed from the office.

“I’m going to check myself into rehab.” 

“It’s about time.” Sam tells him, and his voice sounds off and far-away.

“About yesterday...” Castiel starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish it. He can’t tell Sam that it was a mistake even if it was.

Sam shakes his head, and his eyes are shining. “Please...don’t.”

Castiel nods then, and they’re both left in an awkward silence. It’s clear neither of them wish to talk about it. 

"So, rehab?” Sam asks after the silence goes on for far too long.

“Yeah.”

Sam moves closer, and Castiel soon finds himself wrapped in Sam’s firm embrace. “It’s about time.” Sam snuffles into Castiel’s neck. Castiel feels dampness from Sam’s eyes, but he also feels a smile from Sam’s lips.

Castiel hesitantly brings his arms around Sam’s back and smiles. “It really is.”

“When will you leave?” Sam asks as he pulls back.

“As soon as possible.” He wants this, wants to be able to be dependable, healthy. It’s not for Dean, he tells himself as much, but in a way, it’s because of Dean. Dean made the effort when no one else would. Dean made him see that there was something inside of him worth being with, worth living for, worth loving. He owes it to himself to prove Dean right.

Castiel doesn’t take much, and Sam promises to visit though they both know he won’t. Castiel will be hundreds of miles away, and Sam’s in school. There’s no point to even hope. He heads out in his car, making one small stop on the way to the airport.

He hasn’t been to Dean’s grave, couldn’t go before now, but he’s ready as he steps out of his car and walks down the small gravel path, stopping only when he reaches Dean’s headstone. There’s no body inside, the aftermath of the fire, the eventual explosion too great for any kind of recovery, but Castiel decides that doesn’t matter. He sits, brushes his fingers across the cold stone, and speaks to Dean for the first time since the day of.

“I was so angry with you before, for leaving me and Sam behind, but I understand now. I don’t hate you; I’m not even mad, but I do miss you. More than anything, I want your arms around me, your mouth against my, your hand in my own, but I know you can’t. You’ve helped me more than you know, Dean, and I wish you were here to see it.” 

Castiel pauses for a few moments, throat thick with emotion before he continues.

“I’m going to get help, today actually, and I just, I think you’d be proud of me. I want this almost as much as I want you. I love you, and I miss you, but I want to thank you. Not for saving my life, not again; we both know how you hate that talk. No, I want to thank you for making me see that I have a life worth saving. I couldn’t have known that had it not been for you.”

Castiel sits there for many more minutes, smiling at the grave before he kisses the stone gently. “I love you, Dean,” he says and stands, not looking back as he heads to his car.

**\----**

It would be so easy, Castiel thinks, to dive into drugs and debauchery, to get so high, so incredibly lost in it that he might never be able to recover. But that’s why Castiel can’t, won’t go through with it. The ease of it disgusts him, the familiarity is sickening. And it won’t change anything. Whether this trip would kill or sate him, when it would finally end, the result will still be the same. Dean will still be dead and gone, Castiel would still be a user, and nothing would change. 

It would be an homage to their relationship, their legacy, that much is certain, but, more than that, it would be more of the same. If Castiel has learned anything from being with Dean, from wanting Dean, then it is this: change, no matter the cost, is worth investigation. He will change. He’s worth changing for, Dean taught him that.

Checking himself into a facility is easier than Castiel had originally thought. There are no judgment looks as he basically signs his life over. Twenty-eight days, they tell him and Castiel will be a free from the addiction, the needs that guide and control his life, and Castiel wants to laugh in their faces.

It’s hell is what it is. Pure, simple, agonizing torture, and Castiel can’t stop screaming. The need is so strong that Castiel is tied down the bed after punching a doctor who was trying to administer a weaker dose of heroin. “I don’t want that shit!” He had spat, before his fist connected with the doctor’s jaw.

He’s not happy. He’s sick and uncomfortable and all he wants to do is die and join Dean, but he can’t. He has to get out, to support Sam like Dean asked. Castiel shudders at the thought of what happened with Sam. He can’t believe that he let it get that far, that he was that weak. He supposes that’s one of the main reasons he hasn’t given up yet. He refuses to be that weak again, refuses to let Sam down, or Dean, he’s not sure. But he won’t give up, not yet anyway.

Twenty-eight days turned quickly into six months. After that time, Castiel nearly fell back into it all, only managed to stop himself by calling his sponsor. Balthazar wasn’t much of a sponsor, not really. The man drank like a fish, said the world is going to hell so why not live in decadence and debauchery. But he’s a good man, and he wants to help Castiel any way he can. Castiel is grateful more than anything for that kind of presence in his life.

He thinks it’s that arrogant kind of presence that drew Castiel to Balthazar, that had them flirting on lines neither of them should dare cross. Castiel’s never been good with rules. Balthazar keeps Castiel in line, keeps him focused on being clean. Castiel doesn’t tell him about Dean.

Castiel stays clean and sober, tries to at least, and he hasn’t had a slip up yet. He’s starting to gain control over his life. He even showers regularly, and he shaves, as well, lets the scruff on his face grow no more than a scratchy bit of stubble. Things are good, and Castiel has Balthazar, and Dean, to thank for that.

The first time Balthazar kisses Castiel, Castiel is over at Balthazar’s house after being driven there. Castiel had just about bought something from a kid who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and he’d called Balthazar to get him out of the situation. Balthazar had arrived within minutes and ushered Castiel home.

“You’re a bleeding idiot.” Balthazar tells him, his voice heavily accented. He’s from somewhere in English originally. Balthazar doesn’t talk about it, and Castiel doesn’t ask.

“I called you, didn’t I?” Castiel snaps back at him, his tone challenging.

“Only because you were about to do something completely stupid,” is Balthazar’s retort.

“I didn’t do it. That’s what matters. _You’re supposed to be there to help_ me.”

“Oh, come off it!” Balthazar scoffs, “Just shut up!”

“Make me,” Castiel growls, and Balthazar does with firm lips and heavy tongue, hands gripping Castiel’s face.

It’s a perfectly fine kiss, full of anger, passion, and Castiel likes feeling someone want him, likes wanting someone else.

They have sex that night, in Balthazar’s fancy bed, and Castiel thrusts wildly into him before he comes and collapses, his body spent. He makes a move to get up at several minutes.

“Stay,” Balthazar tells him, and Castiel shrugs and does. It’s easy, it’s comfortable, and it’s good.

Six months over regular sex and dinners, conversations that span into the wee morning hours has Castiel living with Balthazar. He’s happy, and he loves Balthazar. It’s good, and it’s right, and it’s just what Castiel needs.

He’s happy, he thinks, more than he expected to be without Dean. It’s been a year since his death, a year since he’s heard from Sam or Gabriel, and Castiel thinks that maybe things will be okay. Of course, that’s when things in Castiel’s life go haywire.

**\----**

It’s midmorning when Castiel wakes up, Balthazar is already off on some trip; he travels the world for business, something boring Castiel’s sure. Castiel showers, dresses, and brushes his teeth, shaves his face smooth. He vaguely thinks about writing, but he hasn’t in nearly a year, and he doesn’t think he’s about to start today. He’s just finishing texting Balthazar when there’s a knock at the door.

Castiel groans, always hates nearly everyone that Balthazar interacts with and sighs as he turns the handle. 

“No.” Castiel says, shaking his head. “No, it can’t be. You...You.” He can’t say it, can’t believe it. “You’re not real. That’s it. You’re not real.”

“I am,” Dean whispers, shrugging his shoulders. “I...It’s a long story, but I’m here.”

There are a million questions that are running through Castiel’s head, so many running rampant in his mind, and he can’t even process them. His eyes roll back in his head, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to faint. He stumbles backwards, feels Dean’s strong, familiar arms wrap around his waist, and everything gets a little blurry before fading to black.

When Castiel comes to, he’s fairly certain that he dreamed up Dean. That seems to be the only logical thing he can think to explain what just happened.

Dean’s face comes into focus then, and Castiel really doesn’t know what to do. He’s been moved over to the couch, and Dean is kneeling on the floor next to him. Castiel sits up so quickly that he feels dizzy, and he has to steady himself with a hand on the arm of the couch. 

“You’re really here.” Castiel whispers, noticing that Dean has backed away just a bit to give Castiel room. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

“Hey.” Dean voice soothes, his warm hand coming to cup Castiel’s face, thumb rubbing his cheek. “Don’t cry, Cas. It’s alright.”

Castiel wasn’t even aware that he was crying, but that makes sense. It’s a lot to take in. “How...what...when?” Castiel asks, unsure of whether he even wants those questions answered.

“It’s a long story,” Dean tells Castiel, letting his hand fall from Castiel’s face.

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand before it drops down to Dean’s sides, squeezes his fingers gently. “It doesn’t matter, not right now,” Castiel whispers, eyes glued to Dean’s. It breaks his heart to see tears spill from Dean’s eyes, as well. “It doesn’t matter because you’re right here. You’re right here, and you’re not dead, and fuck, Dean, I miss you.”

Dean sniffs hard, blinks furiously at threatening tears. “I miss you, too. So much, Cas. You’re all I thought about when...”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because Castiel is kissing him. He’s kissing Dean like it’s been a year, like it’s only been two minutes. So many things, so many similar and different and terrifying things go into this kiss, and they can’t stop. Castiel has wanted this, always figured he’d want this, and he won’t let go. Not yet.

Dean pulls Castiel towards him, Castiel’s knees resting on either side of Dean’s thighs on the ground, and Castiel still won’t break the kiss. Dean’s skilled fingers are on his hips, teasing the skin just below Castiel’s t-shirt before he’s lifting it off and throwing it across the room. Dean’s eyes seem to flicker everywhere all at once while Castiel watches intently before Dean’s eyes go to Castiel’s face.

“There’s nothing new,” Dean notices, voice soft, and his his hands are trailing up Castiel’s arms. “Are they somewhere else...do you still?”

Castiel shakes his head, doesn’t need Dean to say it to understand the meaning. “I don’t...I haven’t...Not in a while.”

“Why?”

Castiel smiles, leans down to kiss Dean’s mouth lightly once. “I haven’t wanted to.” Dean’s returning grin is blinding, and Castiel has to lean in and kiss him again.

“Is there anything you else you want, haven’t wanted?” Dean asks before sliding a tongue over the swell of his bottom lip. Castiel’s eyes track the movement, and Dean’s intentions are clear.

“You.” Castiel replies. “Always you.” He says before claiming Dean’s mouth. Tongues and lips slide together as Castiel tries to rediscover every taste of Dean all over again. He grinds down against Dean, hands coming to grip Dean’s shoulders as he rocks.

“I love you.” Dean grits out against Castiel’s lips, the rolling of his hips feverous. “God, I should have said it before. Should have told you every day, but I do, Castiel. I love you.”

Castiel has to pull back at those words, his hands moving to rid Dean of his t-shirt. He doesn’t return the words, but he doesn’t think he needs to. Dean knows, Dean’s always known.

Gentle friction turns into rough and jerky slides against each other as Dean moves lower, his back resting on the floor with Castiel still on top of him seamed perfectly between Dean’s spread thighs. 

Each movement, each slide against Dean has Castiel panting and moaning. They’re not longer kissing, just nips and air being shared with the occasional passing of a tongue. 

“C-Cas.” Dean moans, his hips now thrusting and bucking wildly against Castiel. “I’m gonna...I need to...”

Castiel kisses him, knows what Dean needs, and he picks up the pace, Dean’s name on his lips repeating like a prayer or mantra, though Castiel knows deep down that’s probably a curse.

Balthazar is the last thing on his mind as he comes still clad in jeans like some teenage virgin on prom night. He doesn’t feel ashamed because Dean is doing the same just a minute later.

Castiel relaxes against Dean, his face nesting in Dean’s neck, nuzzling his throat a bit. When breathing feels easier, Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s throat lightly, and Dean’s arm wraps around his back. Castiel can’t see Dean’s face, but he can feel Dean’s mouth press to his hair gently only once. Castiel knows he needs to move, knows he needs to talk to Dean, to learn what happened, to tell Dean that this was the last time, but he can’t, not yet.

They rest there together, silent and sated for nearly half an hour before Castiel sits up. Dean looks so beautiful laid out like that, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy and tousled.

“Dean,” Castiel says and turns his head away, casts down his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

Dean sits up then, too, rests with his back against the couch. “There’s someone else.” Dean doesn’t say it like a question; he says it like he knows.

“I love him.” Castiel shifts his gaze to look over Dean, takes in the way Dean’s shoulders are hunched, how his face is looking at the wall behind Castiel.

“How do you think I found you, Cas? It’s not exactly like this is the penthouse.” Castiel thinks Dean just accepts Castiel’s words.

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer that. Castiel’s talked to Sam, not recently, but they still talk. Sam’s seemed happier, settling down with some girl named Amelia, but Castiel never mentioned the moving in with Balthazar.

“I’m a cop,” Dean answers Castiel’s silence. “I did my research.”

Castiel nods; that makes sense. “How...when did you...What happened, Dean?”

Dean sighs and clears his throat. “The day I called you, that last day, I thought I was going to die. There was a fire, and explosion, and I thought I was done for. I called you, and Cas, I was so scared.” Dean’s voice sounds so small that Castiel wants to reach over and wrap his arms around him, but he needs to let Dean finish.

“I was taken. Someone knew I was going to be there, and they got me out.”

“That’s great, Dean,” Castiel says though he’s not sure it is.

Dean shakes his head, bites his lip. “It wasn’t. Man, the stuff they did. I didn’t think I’d ever get home, ever get back to Sam or you.”

“Have you seen him? Sam, I mean? How’s he doing?” Castiel wonders, unable to really process Dean’s words. He gets it, understands that Dean was hurt, raped most likely, but he can’t allow himself to think about that. It hurts too much.

Dean chuckles, but it doesn’t sound real. “He’s good, Cas. Man, he’s doin’ so good.”

So the laugh is for Castiel’s benefit, nothing to do with the state of Dean’s brother. Castiel takes that to mean that Sam told Dean what happened between them.

“Me and Sam, when it...” Castiel tries, but Dean shushes him.

“It’s okay, Cas. I get it. I’m just, I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“No, Dean. No, don’t be sorry. You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your fault. I’m just glad you’re alive, Dean. You have no idea how badly I wanted you to just be here again, be alive again. And you are. You are, and that...that’s great.” Castiel is tearing up again by the time he finishes.

“Shh, Cas. It’s okay,” Dean whispers, and he does lean forward and take Castiel in his arms, bring him back against the couch, and rocking him gently. “I should go,” Dean says after a few minutes.

Castiel pulls his head back, looks up at Dean. “No...No, Dean. Tell me. Let me take your burden, and you tell me what happened.”

Dean sighs and he nods, lets out a shaky sort of breath before he starts to tell his tale.


	6. Fade to Black

**FLASHBACK**

Dean’s head is pillowed in the ground, and he wakes up in a dark room before he sees a figure approach him. “N-no. No please.” Dean begs, recognition in his eyes as he looks at his capturer.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” Michael says, kneeling in front of Dean, running his hand over the man’s battered and bloody face. “I’m so glad I found you.”

There’s a laugh in the distance before the light comes out, and Dean shuts his eyes, adjusts to the new brightness. 

“You found him?” Lucifer laughs as he approaches. He doesn’t touch Dean like Michael does, but his hand runs through Michael’s dark hair. 

Michael leans into the touches, looks to Lucifer with a smile. “You found him.” He corrects, and Lucifer beams, pulling Michael to him, his hands on his brother’s hips.

“Did I ever thank you, brother, for my present?” Michael asks, a sly smile on his face.

Lucifer shakes his head, obviously a no, and then he’s moving closer, lips brushing across Michael’s.

“W-what is this?” Dean asks, trying to figure out what exactly is happening.

Lucifer turns his head from the kiss quickly, sharply kicking Dean in the gut for interrupting them. “You know how much Michael wanted you back in Lawrence, and you have the nerve to refuse him. He wasn’t happy with me after that, but now...Now he has you to play with, and...”

Michael leans into Lucifer’s sides, his arm around his brother’s waist, head pillowed on his shoulder. “Now, we’re gonna be so happy.” Michael finishes, his lip between his teeth as he looks to Dean’s body with lust and desire.

Dean tries to think back to Castiel, tries to keep his head out of this. He remembers briefly sharing how he and Sam came to Castiel’s building. He had told Castiel about being stalked, how things turned dangerous quickly. Castiel had held him afterwards, let Dean practically cry on his shoulder. Dean wishes he’d said more, gave more details on how sick and twisted Michael was. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be here right now.

Dean is tortured, violated in every way at the mercy of Michael while his brother watches, the both of them getting off on Dean’s pain.

It lasts several months, Dean’s not sure. He’s lost count. Something snaps though, and Michael...Michael finally feels remorse on day when Lucifer pushes things too far.

After Lucifer took his time carving Dean’s skin, leaving him bleeding and for dead on the floor, Michael finds him, gasps at the sight.

“This...This isn’t what I wanted for you.” Michael crouches by Dean’s side, hands covering over the wounds. “He...I just wanted you and me to be together like before.”

They were never together before. Michael was obsessive, kept asking Dean to say yes, to give in and let everything else just to be him. When Dean refused, Michael stalked him, followed him around, to his home, work, wherever. It got so bad that Dean packed up his brother and left town, moving where Michael couldn’t find them. At least, that was what Dean thought at the time.

“I’ll fix you up. I’ll set you free.” Michael promises, presses the softest of kisses to Dean’s bloody temple.

Michael’s hands are for more than just torture, Dean discovers. He’s stitched and sewn up, given pills to ease his pain.

“Yow know, my brother, I practically raised him. I took care of him in a way most people could never understand, and I still love him.” Michael says once Dean’s nearly out of the building, the other man helping him along. “But I am going to kill him because it is right and I have to. And...And, when it’s done, I’ll take my own life. You’ll never see either of us again.”

Dean’s out then, and he waits at the building, watches Michael return. He hears shouting, hears a loud and broken apology from Michael before the gunshot. Another soon follows. Dean makes his way back down, sees the pair lying close to one another, the gun gripped in Michael’s dead hand, and Dean cries. He cries not for sorrow for their life, but he cries because he’s free, and he’s going home.

**\----**

Castiel’s crying throughout Dean’s tale, but he doesn’t speak until it’s finished. “I...It was my fault.” Castiel croaks out, and Dean shakes his head.

“How? How could it possibly be your fault?”

Castiel sniffs hard and wipes his eyes, remembers hearing about his brother’s deaths on the news nearly five months ago, but he hadn’t bothered to care until now. “They...I knew them. They were my brothers.”

Dean shudders then, and he shakes his head, head bowed as tears flow freely from his eyes. Castiel can’t touch him, doesn’t want to cause him anymore pain, but Dean saves him the trouble. 

Dean clings to Castiel, shaking with violent sobs. “It wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Castiel has no right to ask that question, but he needs to know what kept Dean away, if maybe Dean knew that Castiel was related to both of them.

“Sam...He wasn’t good when I got home. He needed me. I wanted--wanted so bad to come see you, but...Cas, look at me. I’m fucked up. After everything...It messed with my head. I saw that you’d moved on, man. I didn’t wanna bring you down. You wouldn’t have wanted me, anyway.”

Nothing could ever make Castiel not want Dean. Nothing. He can’t say that, and he feels nothing but guilt and shame. He feels responsible, even if the blame isn’t really his own. “Go.” Castiel whispers, pulling away from Dean. “Please, get out. Go!”

Dean’s eyes are rimmed red as he backs up, and he nods a bit. “I’m sorry I hurt you again.”

Castiel moves and kisses Dean soundly, through the sniffing and the tears. It’s messy, sloppy even, but it’s something new; it’s goodbye. “I love you.” Castiel tells him and pulls away, turning his back on Dean and resting his head on the couch.

He feels Dean’s hand on his shoulder, hears the door opening and closing, knows he’s gone. He’s never felt more alone.

**\----**

Balthazar returns two days later, and Castiel feels the need to confess. “I love you,” is the first thing Castiel says once Balthazar walks through the door.

Balthazar smiles and pulls Castiel into a hug, laughing a bit. “Somebody either missed me greatly, or they did something very naughty while I was away.”

Castiel pulls back, and he’s sure his face says it all.

“Oh,” Balthazar resigns, and he takes Castiel’s hand and leads them to the couch. “Talk to me, Castiel. Did you use?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head, squeezes Balthazar’s hand gently. “I need to tell you something.”

Balthazar nods, and Castiel turns his head and takes his hand back. He faces the wall in front of them, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You know, I’ve been here, alive, for a very long time. I remember many things.

I remember two of my brothers in constant turmoil, my family ripping at the seams. I remember a distant father with little regard for his children, who deemed their lives as less significant than those of the strangers he looked after. I remember needles and veins and the poison that filled them. Smoke and inhalation and the sensations they brought me.

But most importantly, I remember a man that pulled me out of my own personal hell. His brother would become the greatest friend I’d ever know. And he, that man. Well, he became the only person I ever had to lose, the only person I thought I cared enough about for his absence to matter. I chose you though, and he’s gone now which is all well and good, but what if I’ve made the wrong choice; how am I supposed to know? I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything.”

And Castiel does. He tells him everything he told Dean about his life, tells him about Dean and Sam, about how Dean was dead, and how he’s not. Castiel tells Balthazar how Dean isn’t really dead, how just days ago he was here. He tells him what they did, what he said, and Castiel feels Balthazar’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m doing my best in impossible circumstances.” Castiel explains and turns to Balthazar, shrugs a bit.

“Well you’ve...,” Balthazar says with a smile. He doesn’t seem to be angry, offers only understanding and love. “You’ve always got little old me.”

Castiel nods, smiles weakly. “Yes, I’ll always have you.”


	7. EPILOGUE

** EPILOGUE  
One Year Later **

Castiel smiles as he wakes up, the alarm blaring noisily in the background. He stretches lazily, groaning as his bones creak and crack. He feels a head burrowing under his arm, and Castiel can’t help but grin and slide fingers down his back. He’s been smiling a lot lately, loves that his decision couldn’t have been different. This is where he’s meant to be.

“How did you sleep?” Castiel asks, hands pulling his hair a bit. He grins when he’s greeted with a very sleepy and angry face.

“Turn off the damn alarm and get back over here. We’re not done sleeping.” A gruff, sleep-filled voice growls.

“I’m not tired.” Castiel teases. He’s rewarded with a glare, and Castiel rolls his eyes and reaches over to turn off the alarm. Once he’s settled back down, he’s being pinned to the bed, fingers gripping to Castiel’s biceps, and Castiel feels a lazy morning erection teasing his hip.

Castiel brings his hands around, grips two handfuls of a firm, muscled ass and pulls as he spreads his thighs. “Dean.” He groans at the electrifying impact, and Dean grins bright and happy before pressing in closer, sealing their mouths together. 

When Dean has to breathe, Castiel takes this opportunity to speak. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know, Dean, when he first met.”

Dean sighs and he shakes his head. “For saving your life? I think we’re past that by now.” He leans down like he’s going to kiss Castiel again, but Castiel manages to turn his head, barely avoiding it.

“No, not that.”

Dean pulls away just slightly, and Castiel can tell Dean is confused. “For what then?”

Castiel smiles, and it’s freeing, happy even. He cups Dean’s cheek, his thumb running over the soft swell of Dean’s lower lip. “For giving me a life worth saving.” Castiel kisses him again, slips his tongue into Dean’s mouth and moans when Dean rocks down hard against him.

Castiel shouldn’t be surprised. This is exactly the same way he wakes up every morning, save the serious words. It’s been the same way since he told Balthazar everything, the same way since he realizes that he’d _want_ Dean more than he’d ever _need_ Balthazar. 

Balthazar wasn’t even surprised, not really, not after Castiel explained everything, and Castiel knew that Balthazar would be fine. A part of Castiel hated this decision to find Dean, to make it up to him, and to vow to live each day as if it were their last. They wanted no regrets, but part of Castiel didn’t like that. He had relied on and needed Balthazar, but he’d always want Dean more. 

It’s not complicated. Sure, they have their issues, but they’re happy. Sam’s getting married, but he visits often. Gabriel is the same as ever, and he and Sam have become close. Castiel wants this life, and he’s thankful he doesn’t need it, that he doesn’t have to give it up, either. Really, it’s simple, it’s just the subtle difference of want and need that Castiel came to realize and know, and it’s the best he’s ever felt.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, I think they're awesome.
> 
> Also, this is my first even big bang, so I would love to know what y'all think.


End file.
